


On the Edge of Time (rewritten)

by Gordon_White



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Ancestor-Descendant Relationship, Angst, Assassin's Creed: Forsaken References, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Retelling, William isn't that bad guy as everyone thinks, which means showing their brightest and darkest sides I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-08-10 09:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20133454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gordon_White/pseuds/Gordon_White
Summary: We are all related to our ancestors. Their blood is running through our veins. We are their legacy. And in the hardest moment of our lives they can help us even if you had thought that you could be enemies.





	1. Chapter 1

In a tense silence, William was wandering around the Grand Temple at a nervous pace. Every part of his disgruntled soul was boiling with rage, and he needed time to compose his thoughts in solitude and completely cool down after a quarrel with his son which had happened a few minutes before.

He took a deep breath and stopped at last, then leaned against the wall and sat down on a cold stone floor, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. They had two months left. Only two months and a lot of work to do with responsibility for millions of people's lives on their shoulders. And that's when Desmond suddenly declared to him that he was done with everything and didn't want to sit in the Animus anymore. As if they had any choice. It was a hard time for them all, and every one of them was trying to do their best to save the world. They had no right to waste the time they didn't have. Did his son want the sun to turn everything to ashes on the planet? Then why did he have to listen to his complaints? Was it really so hard to bear? But they could have had so much time if he hadn't idled it away in some shitty bar! He'd been resting for nine years, and now he had to work the time off by all means. When he saved the world, nobody would make him sit in that thing anymore.

Still, no matter how he tried to calm himself down, he couldn't forget his son's last words – the words that were still making his hand clench into a fist over and over again. Well, he shouldn't have reacted so furiously to them, but... how could Desmond equate him to those bastards who he'd been fighting for his whole life? His father had demanded too much from him, that was what he'd meant, right? But how much of  _ his _ energy and  _ his _ nerves had been put into his son's training, how many years he'd been out of his mind with worry while he was looking for him! And then, when he found his son and Desmond was in a coma, he'd always been by his side, even slept near the Animus and prayed he would survive... Everything he had done was just for his son, and what he got in return? Desmond was still that insolent, ungrateful, stubborn, egoistic–

He didn't finish the last sentence in his mind as he sensed someone's presence nearby, sudden and inexplicable, existent and... unreal at the same time, which made him feel ill at ease instantly. But when he heard a voice – wafting from the distance, it seemed to be weirdly familiar, calm and even, though with notes of hesitation – his hair stood on end, and he was just frozen to the spot, unable to do anything.

“Good afternoon…”

Slowly, William raised his head and felt his bright-blue eyes widening in shock. There was a man standing in front of him, pale as Death itself and dressed in a blue eighteenth century suit with a tricorn hat on his head; the other part of the temple was visible through his dim silhouette, which gave to understand that it was some kind of ghost or just a figment of imagination. What was more, it became clear by the look on the ghost's face that he didn't know what to tell or what to do either.

As he got enough of this spectacle, William shook his head and looked at the ghost again, hoping that the vision would disappear. However, the thing didn't do that but got confused even more with his reaction.

“I beg your pardon…” the ghost made an attempt to speak again. Of course, he understood that a conversation with a dead person would be more than shocking for a living human, but this dazed gaze actually disoriented him.

“And I haven't been in the Animus yet...” William finally managed to say something. Then, thinking that stress could be a possible explanation for what he'd seen, he got to his feet and headed back to his team. “Maybe I could use a drink…?”

“Please, wait!” getting embarrassed more and more, the ghost of Haytham Kenway, trying to stop him, followed him and even managed to touch his shoulder.

“Ah, right, we didn't buy any alcohol,” William muttered as he remembered such an annoying nuisance. However, he didn't feel anything at all.

Suddenly, he heard another voice calling his name, looked forward and saw Rebecca heading towards him.

“Are you okay, Bill?” she asked in anxiety, looking closely into his tired and somewhat worried eyes.

“Yes, it's alright, Rebecca,” William answered, sounding relieved as he turned back and didn’t see anybody else this time. Following her, he murmured to himself, “Seems like it was really just the stress…”


	2. Chapter 2

Since then, the ghost had begun to haunt William. When he was alone, Haytham followed him almost everywhere – but before someone else from his team could approach them, his ancestor always disappeared immediately. It made William think that he'd caught some kind of bug from the Animus from which he was trying to stay as far away as possible now. However, he decided not to tell anyone about his problem, he didn't know why, although he had noticed that the others were asking if he was alright more and more often, throwing strange glances in his direction and making him feel uneasy all the time.

Haytham's ghost didn't want to give up either and tried to prove with enviable determination that he was real and everything was fine with his descendant's sanity. Unfortunately, William continued ignoring him with that same stubbornness and eventually began stopping his ears because his hallucination soon had brought him an awful headache as well. And things would have definitely kept going this way if Haytham hadn't got a chance to stop it once and for all.

One day William was walking around the temple in search of his tablet, which had mysteriously disappeared in the morning while he was doing reconnaissance near the cave. The other three only shook their heads and even took part in the search but didn't find anything, so they just shrugged their shoulders and got back to work. William found their calm reaction quite suspicious, but didn't make any comment and continued searching for his lost thing by himself. Soon afterwards, he met the ghost again.

“Are you looking for something?” Haytham asked, approaching him. He wasn't surprised to get an unchanging great view of his spine in reply, so he didn't back down and went on in that same calm voice, “You need your metallic tablet which shows pictures when you touch its surface, don't you? I saw Desmond taking it somewhere while you were away.”

This time, William turned back and gave him a frown, snorting skeptically. Then, however, he probably thought that it had gone too far even for his imagination, or that the described thing was more or less similar to his lost tablet, but eventually he decided to find Desmond and check out what the ghost had said to him.

Soon afterwards, he actually heard a suspicious talk between Desmond and Shaun, and decided to stop nearby, so that he could listen in on them.

“Honestly, Desmond, it's so childish of you!” said Shaun disapprovingly, leaning against the back of his chair. “Tell him everything right now, he'll soon find it out anyway.”

“Yeah, and then he'll actually kill me,” Desmond objected in a muffled voice, resting his palms on the table. “Do you remember how angry he was last time? Just imagine what will happen in this case!”

“But how do you imagine this? You think you'll leave it somewhere, and–”

“What will he leave?”

Flinching, the two boys turned back and saw William coming out of the shadows, his frown boding ill for them.

“Um, nothing, Dad…” Desmond mumbled. As he recollected himself, he tried to make the most innocent face ever but under his father's stern eyes changed his mind immediately. “Well, you know, there was such an accident, Shaun and I–”

“Don't drag me into this,” Shaun broke in angrily.

“Okay, okay. It's all my fault,” raising his hands in a propitiatory gesture, corrected himself Desmond. “I was just passing your table and accidentally knocked over something, but it turned out to be your tablet, it fell down and– But don't worry, Rebecca promised to fix it, it'll be as good as new soon!” Desmond added in confusion, hoping it would a bit mollify his father.

“All right then, if that's true,” against to all expectations, William managed to say only that as he was really shocked to realize that his hallucination appeared to be not a hallucination but a real ghost indeed, so this time he didn't get angry at all. With an expressionless face, he turned around, adding before leaving them, "Get back to the Animus.”

“And that's... all?” already prepared to an inevitable storm, Desmond couldn't believe his ears and was just staring open-eyed after his father walking away.

“I was expecting something bigger,” Shaun agreed in puzzlement. “He's been acting quite strange recently, I must say.”

“You're telling me.” Desmond headed to the Animus. “I better go now before he changes his mind.”

William didn't hear the last part of their conversation as he was heading towards the place where he'd seen Haytham for the last time. As he looked around in order to make sure that there was no living being in sight, he turned around and saw Haytham standing right in front of him, as if he'd actually appeared out of nowhere.

“Oh…” Taken by surprise, William stepped back, but quickly collected himself and went on in a calmer voice, which was barely betraying his nervousness, “Well, alright, you win. I suggest that... you,” he hesitated slightly as he was still not sure that he wasn't speaking with the emptiness, “are real.”

“You've admitted this at last,” Haytham said, smiling at his final victory.

“I haven't said that I _believe_ in that,” William added cautiously, folding his arms across his chest. “Then I have a question for you. How could some group of Assassins interest you so much that you decided to come back to this world?”

“To be honest, even I don't know what brought me here again,” Haytham answered, starting slowly pacing around him with his hands clasped behind his back, most likely out of habit; William, however, had a feeling as if he was charming him, sending shivers down his spine. That was happening because of such a palpable, strong energy emanating from the ghost. “I just suddenly found myself standing in the temple and saw a group of people in unusual clothes coming inside. Then I understood that it had to be the future and l was actually dead. What's more, you and Desmond reminded me of my relationship with Connor in some ways–”

“Really?” shaking his shoulders in an attempt to get free from the apparition's influence, William said skeptically – he couldn't imagine what he and his son could have in common with this Templar, except for their bloodline. The last thing he wanted to deal with were ghosts, especially the ones which belonged to the Templars.

“You can deny it, but there is something important in all these things.” Haytham stopped and met his eyes for a moment, then continued to walk in the opposite direction; William watched him intently, not letting himself lower his guard. “You both are my descendants, after all. And the impending end of the world which you're going to stop. It all aroused my curiosity. Besides, that thing you call the Animus…” He suddenly lowered his voice, “You've seen my memories, haven't you? What do you think about them?”

“They were... impressive,” William answered, surprised at this question. He remembered that no one of them had guessed that Haytham was a Templar up until the induction of Charles Lee into the Order, even he himself.

“Impressive…” Haytham murmured vaguely, stopping, and looked in the direction of the temple exit. Then he turned to his descendant again, adding, “You have a lot of work to do, I suppose? Well, I won't keep you from it any longer. See you soon.”

William watched his ancestor go away until he disappeared in the darkness of the temple.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you always have such quarrels with your son?” Haytham asked William while they were slowly walking around the temple chamber.

“No,” keeping back the truth, William said coldly. He had almost accepted the fact that the ghost of his ancestor was real but still had no desire to speak with him, so he had to tolerate his presence because Haytham had no intention of leaving them at all. If the others found out that there was a poltergeist among them, it could cause chaos inside their team and disrupt their whole operation to save the world. What was more, it would be better not to quarrel with the ghost – who knew how Haytham could act if he got angry. A bad peace was better than a good war with a thing from which he didn't even know what to expect.

“I see you don't trust me,” said Haytham, feeling his hostility clearly; he looked closely into his descendant's face, but William averted his eyes from him immediately. He still couldn't hold the gaze of these penetrating eyes which seemed to know him inside out. “I understand your apprehension, but believe me, the last thing I would want to do is to disrupt your mission. As well as to help my Order.”

“Is that so?” William said mistrustfully. Whatever happened, a Templar would remain a Templar, as well as an Assassin would remain an Assassin, so he had to keep his eyes skinned and never believe him.

“In time, you can become disappointed in everything in your life. I don't want to deal with neither the Templars nor the Assassins anymore. Especially in the future,” Haytham said in a barely changed, lower voice. And this combination of indifference, disappointment and regret, which William managed to catch in his ancestor's tone, astounded him most of all. “Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn't come out of the temple anyway.”

“Why?”

The ghost shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know. Maybe because it somehow supports my existence among the living. Anyway, I can't return to that world either,” Haytham looked in the direction of the exit. “Although I would like to see how everything has changed in this century”.

“You would definitely find a lot of interesting things there,” William said, not noticing that his hostility to him was disappearing at that moment. He himself knew the value of freedom very well and would have never wished anybody to become locked between two worlds without a chance to see any of them.

Then they heard the others’ voices getting louder in the distance.

“It seems like you need to go now,” Haytham said in a hurry. He walked in the opposite direction and soon went out of sight.

_And why did he choose me to talk with,_ being in conflict with his own discordant emotions, William thought and went forward to join his team. New questions were rising inside his head, and he wanted to get answers to all of them.  


* * *

  
His relationship with his son hadn't got better at all. Before the fixed tablet – thanks to Rebecca's skills – was returned to its owner, Desmond had already begun avoiding his father and hadn't expressed any complaints about the Animus so as not to pick a new fight, though his father hadn't chided him for that at all. William felt sorry about that quarrel, and wanted to talk with him but still couldn't find the right words to say. It seemed like there was an invisible wall standing between them – hard training had made them drift apart from each other, but now, after nine long years of separation, they felt as if they were real perfect strangers to one another. And this hostility of his own son to him was oppressing William most of all.

  
One day, William, left alone to monitor parameters on the computer screen, was watching Desmond experience memories of Connor's first day in Boston. Observing the public protest, which seemed to erupt into a riot at any moment, he suddenly felt someone standing behind him, and heard a familiar voice near his ear:

“So, the person on the roof was Connor?”

“Didn't you know?” surprised as much as Haytham, William asked, turning to him.

“No, I didn't,” Haytham shook his head; his projection in the Animus had just ordered a soldier to shoot at the boy standing on the roof. “I hadn't even known at the time that I had a son. And when they told me about him, I had already forgotten this incident.”

William didn't find what to say and so just turned to the screen again. He was only wondering how the relationship of such enemies – father and son – could develop, only if it actually developed then.

After the end of the session, Desmond stood up from the Animus and went his own way, never once looking in his father's direction. William didn't say anything, but his frown spoke for him that he didn't like this attitude at all. As he was left by himself, he saw the ghost heading towards him.

“It seems like you still don't get along with each other,” Haytham remarked in a light irony. He'd guessed that quarrels between the Miles weren't rare, and William's words couldn't convince him otherwise.

“I just need to talk with him,” William said coldly. It was their problem, not Haytham's, and they had no need for his interference. Especially his.

“Then talk with him,” Haytham said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Your support will help him.”

“I think I can handle conflicts with my son by _myself_,” William cut him off, this time quite rudely, with a broad hint in his voice, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Of course, you can do whatever you like. But if _you_ don't do the first step toward reconciliation, everything will remain the same,” losing his temper, Haytham uttered slowly and clearly in a low voice. The blood-curling look in his eyes, piercing like a thousand of blades, made William flinch at once – all his mysterious being was emanating such an overpowering energy of anger, that his descendant, starting to step back, just stopped dead, already regretting his words...

But then, snorting, Haytham only turned back and left him alone.

Having followed him with his eyes, William exhaled loudly in undisguised relief and hurried to the others, trying not to think about what could have just happened if Haytham had really got mad.

Anyway, he couldn’t deny that Haytham was right – he had to speak with Desmond. What was more, he had already been warned that they actually had no need to quarrel with the ghost.  


* * *

  
And yet, despite all the contradictions and disagreements, his relationship with Haytham was improving. The ghost appeared to be a pleasant conversationalist, and William eventually began finding talks with him quite interesting. No, of course, he didn't trust him – but he had noticed that he was becoming less and less tense in his presence, and his guard was lowering, too. What to hide here – he even started to look forward to their meetings. The way Haytham influenced him was truly unnatural – he himself didn't understand what was happening to him at those moments. But the more time he spent with the ghost, getting used to him, the more he realized then that the ghost's energy, passionless and imperturbable, like a serene azure in a cloudless day, was giving him a sense of... peace. Yes, strange as it sounded, it was true. Peace, eternal and unwavering, detached from the mundane bustle, was exactly what he needed so much in those stressful days. Haytham's words seemed to be true, too – why would he try to lie to him if his life struggle had ended, and the time also wasn't his? Besides, he had met only several people in his life with whom he could be open and who was his equal, to whom he wasn't a leader or just a colleague – the people who really understood him. But he himself was so secretive and distrustful of everyone that even his wife couldn't understand his motives and actions. But he... Haytham often told him with a warm smile on his lips, in which, on the one hand, was a visible nostalgia, but on the other – William felt it – was hidden a great sorrow, that he and Desmond reminded him of himself and his own son... Could he actually understand him in the way that nobody was able to? What were the real meaning of the words “descendant” and “ancestor”? One part of his soul sincerely wanted to learn, to understand, to _find_ something sibling it had never had... but it all needed time, time, time...

And then, the other part of him, suspicious and cautious, tried to understand whether it was the truth or just a lie skillfully hidden under the mask of virtue. What could return Haytham to this world? Did he really know nothing, or was he just hiding something? Did he know anything about his new abilities in this ethereal form? And were all his actions aimed to engender his trust and then catch him off guard when he was least expecting it..? The two ambivalent feelings tormented William when he was left in solitude, as he couldn't understand if it was right to let their relationship develop or not... How many questions were in his head torturing him incessantly! And they all demanded answers which he couldn't get yet. It all demanded time which day by day was running and running out.  
  


* * *

  
“Are you Assassins the only ones who try to stop the end of the world?” Haytham asked him when they met each other once again. “Do the Templars know about it? Do they try to do something? Help you or still just fight against you? Otherwise it will affect them, too.”

“I'm sure they know about it,” William responded with all seriousness in his voice, which was proving his honesty. “What's more, they are preparing for it. Building shelters underground to wait it out. I don't know their precise aims, but the only thing we know for sure is that they still try to stop us by all means.”

“So, they don't care about people?”

“It seems so.”

Frowning, Haytham didn't respond anything, but it seemed that he became totally disappointed in his Order, judging by the way his lips curved in contempt. They walked in silence, which William didn't dare to break, looking closely and cautiously at his ancestor who was deep in thought and seemed to stop noticing anything around him. However, when Haytham spoke again, he decided to change the subject, having no wish to talk about the Orders anymore, “Hm, in the Animus I have learnt so many things about Connor. I had no idea that Charles was so cruel to him as a child. Now I understand why they hated each other so much,” saying these words, he felt only a pure disgust for his former confidant.

“In reality a lot of things appear to be not as good as we had pictured them before.”

“That's true,” nodding, Haytham agreed – he himself knew that too well. Sighing, he spoke again, and for the first time William heard so openly a sincere sadness and pain in his voice which had been hidden for ages in his once-living, wounded by time heart, “And, Ziio... It was so horrible – to see her death. And Connor was there, by her side…” feeling gnawing guilt inside his soul, he revived the memory of his beloved woman's death in fire, nightmarish, furious and merciless, which had taken from him his family and his father's home in Queen Anne's Square long ago. And, as if he was watching his father's death that day, felt all the desperation and fear of his own child, which were so familiar to him.

“It's a sorrow that everything happened that way,” William said in sympathy, not knowing what to say – he was lucky to save his family and should have been grateful for his fortune.

A hush fell over them. William, struggling to get over the awkwardness between them, stopped for a few moments in hesitation to change the subject. Then he finally asked the question that had been interesting him for such a long time, “So, why did you decide to talk with me and avoid the others? Desmond is your descendant, too”.

“I don't want to draw too much attention to myself,” Haytham answered, regaining his calmness, “and convince them that I'm real again. Desmond is my descendant, of course, but you're the eldest among them, and we can have a lot of things to talk about. So I'm satisfied with everything.”

“That's great, but they still think that I'm a bit crazy,” snorting, William said with clear discontent, folding his arms across his chest. It was true because some strange conversations with the emptiness hadn't remained a secret and obviously raised some suspicions in the others.

“So it goes,” Haytham shrugged his shoulders, skillfully hiding a clear smile between his lips – his descendant only rolled his eyes but didn't make any comment.

At that moment, they heard Shaun's voice echoing around the black arches of the cave. Listening to it, William suddenly livened up at once and said, turning to his ancestor, “It seems like we've found another power source. I need to go.”

“Good luck, then.”  
  


* * *

  
“Is everything all right now?” having listened to the team, which had been vigorously discussing their troubles happened in Manhattan, Haytham asked in anxiety as he found his descendant alone again.

“Yes, we had some problems there but managed to get the power source,” William answered, turning to him; though his voice was even, his frown and lips pressed together in a thin line gave to understand that that incident was still worrying him.

“I'm glad,” Haytham said, deciding not to ask him about that anymore. Then, looking in the direction of the Animus, he decided to talk about another problem, which he had wanted to discuss for a long time, “I think Desmond sits too much in the Animus.”

“We have no choice,” William said, frowning more and more. Though he hadn't confessed this to anybody, Desmond's well-being truly bothered him, and these visual changes for the worse in his son day by day were making him more and more worried.

“It seems so, but... I feel that he’s becoming more irritable,” the ghost added with sympathy. It was true: Desmond was getting more nervous and sullen indeed, and the way he ignored his father's presence was tensing William, even making him feel guilty. “I think the Animus influences him badly. If he’d been himself, he would have never said those words which you had quarreled about. Had you ever had such incidents before?”

“We had…” William muttered worriedly – reviewing their quarrel in his memory, he reflected on that incident, too. It seemed like Desmond had really been out of his mind that day, and the Animus could be a possible explanation for such behavior indeed – William himself had been too blinded with rage to notice that. But when he remembered how Clay Kaczmarek and other Subjects had died in Abstergo Animi... Although Rebecca had said that Desmond's vitals were good and he could spend a lot of time in the Animus, they had to take great risk anyway... To become a reason why his son would eventually go crazy? No, he wouldn't take this by any means. “It seems like he really shouldn't sit in the Animus so much.”

“So, maybe it's time to talk with him?” Haytham nodded in the direction of Desmond heading to the Animus. “Right now.”

“Yes. You are right,” William agreed; the guilt suddenly dug its claws deep into his heart – how long could he put off their talk when he might be the reason for everything that had happened recently? He took a deep breath and headed to his son, feeling that they wouldn't make peace with each other so easily.

“Desmond, maybe you'd better eat something at first?” Rebecca said in worry, watching Desmond approaching the Animus with a twitching, irritated gait.

“Oh, c'mon, everything's fine,” he waved indifferently and sat into the chair. “All that matters is that I'm not wasting the time, the world can't wait for me to–”

“Son.”

Desmond didn't finish the last sentence, flinching as he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Raising his eyes, he saw his father looking at him with seriousness and surprising empathy in his usually cold blue eyes – William's voice sounded extremely gently as he didn't know at all how to begin the talk and not make the situation even worse than now.

“What?” Desmond asked incredulously, looking into his eyes.

“We need to talk,” William remained calm outwardly, despite his internal nervousness and confusion.

“About what?!” brushing his hand off his shoulder, Desmond snapped and leaned back in the seat. “I'm in the Animus and do everything to save the world, what else doesn't satisfy you?!”

“If you think I don't see what's going on with you and don't care about your health, then you're completely far off the mark!” that impudent tone began irritating William, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself down instantly, not letting the flame inside him ignite. Then he put his hand on his shoulder again and added softly, trying to show his best intentions, “Please.”

“Okay,” Desmond replied after a short pause, even cooling down after such an unexpected change, and stood up from the Animus. Before following him, William turned to Rebecca, who had watched everything in great surprise – when their eyes met, she nodded, wishing him good luck.

They walked a little and stopped in the distance where nobody else could hear them. Then Desmond turned to his father and asked in a much calmer voice, “So, what do you want to talk about?”

“I…” William broke off, struggling to find the right words to say once again. God, he'd gone through so many difficulties in his life, but why was it so hard to have a normal talk with his own son? “I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have lashed out like that. You have to understand I've never been very good at this. Nevermind that we live rather... extraordinary lives.”

“Yeah, I kinda liked my ordinary one,” Desmond remarked. It seemed like this talk didn't touch him in the slightest, and he didn't intend to continue it at all.

“You can't escape who you are, Desmond.”

“So I've noticed.”

“Look... it's silly for us to go back and forth like this.” William, seeing that he was failing to improve the situation, sighed and tried to compose his thoughts to say the most important words. “I admit, I did a shitty job raising you. I apologize, I'm sorry. But it's important you understand it didn't come from a bad place. You're my son. I love you. I guess I was so busy trying to make sure nothing bad happened, I didn't... consider the consequences.” He stopped, waiting to hear what his son would say. As he got neither positive nor negative answer, he added with a slight hope, “Truce?”

Desmond only clucked and looked away, still saying nothing to him; but that cruel sneer in his indifferent smirk, which so unnaturally distorted his kind face – that open rejection wounded his father's heart worse than the sharpest blade. Then he turned back, intending to go away, but William grabbed his hand and stopped him, wishing to say the last words:

“And, please, just... just don't sit in the Animus so much. It's really not worth the risk.”

Broken, he watched his son walk away, left alone, without an answer.


	4. Chapter 4

_Two people – an adult man and thirteen-year-old boy – were slowly coming down the green hill. In visible tension, the elder one was constantly peering into the distance, and the youngster, though watching his father with incredulity, eventually started looking around as well. However, he didn't hear anything suspicious – only birds, which were peacefully singing in the sky, and leaves rustling in the wind._

_Soon they approached a barn that was detached from other houses of their small village hidden in the hills and woods._

_“Today we'll be training there.”_

_With growing suspiciousness, Desmond scanned this tall, big building from which most of its red paint had already peeled off, and the wind managed to swing its old, rotting doors so strongly that he could hear a frightening creak: it looked utterly dilapidated and seemed to be standing here forgotten by everyone at least for half a century._

_“And... what I have to do?”_

_“Get inside and bring me a book.”_

_“What? I have to search this ruin?” Desmond looked at the building in presentiment again – at the only thought of walking there his heart was already shuddering._

_“Don't worry, you're not the first to pass the test,” William said, encouragingly clapping him on the shoulder, though made Desmond only flinch at this touch. “Besides, the barn isn't in such a bad condition as it seems to be at first sight. Though, I wouldn't let my guard down there. Go ahead.”_

_Desmond headed forward, but stopped in hesitation and looked back, wishing to get a little more support. But there was no soul behind him anymore._

_“Damn,” he muttered in growing anxiety. But understanding that he had no choice anyway, he moved on after all._

_Having checked that the doors were padlocked, Desmond decided to go around the barn; on its left side, he actually found three empty windows and got inside through one of them. The easiest part of the task was done._

_Walking cautiously on the creaking floorboards, in the semi-darkness barely lit by the light coming through the windows, he flinched as he heard a noise from the far side of the building. However, when he turned at the sound, he didn't see anybody again._

_A wind, maybe, Desmond thought, swallowing hard, and kept moving forward. Having searched around and checked that the first floor was absolutely empty and lifeless, he examined the walls and saw a wooden ladder whose lower part was broken off. He didn't get confused and ran forward, climbed up the wall, reached the upper part and clambered onto the second floor._

_He didn't find anything on that side of the floor – and it meant that the book was probably hidden on its other side, which was connected with the first part by balks and beams. There was even darker than on the first floor as there was only one small window on the front side of the barn._

_Suddenly, Desmond heard the same strange, scary sounds coming from the distance – when he looked forward, he saw a shadow that flashed before the window and disappeared in the darkness._

_“Dad?” he asked, peering in the blackness. But he couldn't make out anybody and got no answer as well._

_Is he doing this just to scare me, Desmond thought, swallowing hard again._

_If it was so – and it most probably was so – he was doing that very well._

_Why am I doing this, Desmond thought again, stepping carefully on the first beam, which creaked plangently under his foot at once, As if I have nothing else to do. They don't exist..._

_The next instant, louder squeaks came crushing down on him – not wishing to stay here for a second longer, Desmond ran forward, carefully jumping from one beam to another. By the second, the creaks were getting closer and closer, and the boy, fearing the unknown, got even more nervous and decided to move faster. He didn't want to disappoint his father, whatever he wanted from him..._

_Losing his carefulness in a hurry, he stumbled and fell down the balk, crying in desperation:_

_“Dad!”_

_A strong hand caught his palm at that instant, and through the tears in his eyes, Desmond saw his father's face.  
  
_

* * *

  
Through the bars of the cell, Desmond, being in Connor's form, exchanged a few words with Thomas Hickey, who was the reason for this extremely bad situation they both had got in. Then he and his team in the modern time saw a man in a familiar blue tricorn hat and suit coming into the corridor – he stopped in front of those cells, accompanied by two other men.

_So, this was the first time you met each other face to face,_ William thought, watching his Templar ancestor. Having said everything he needed to, Haytham looked closely at the Assassin standing behind the bars, and walked to the exit with almost indifferent expression on his face, _Had you known at the time that he was your son?_

However, later, when William heard another talk between Connor, who'd been thrown out of the wagon once he was taken to the scaffold, and Hickey, who decided to laugh at him before his death, he was actually taken aback to find out that Lee and Haytham had arranged everything and made the supposed trial cancel in order to send Connor right to the gallows. He didn't manage to hide his feelings from Rebecca and Shaun, who got worried the second they looked into his unusually anxious eyes, but he collected himself immediately and assured them that he was alright. Then he looked at the screen with an expressionless face again, deciding to ask Haytham about everything before making any conclusion.

A few minutes later, when the session had finished, and Connor managed to escape the scaffold and save Washington from Hickey, Shaun shared a piece of interesting news with the others:

“Our sensors detect a strange concentration of energy in the far side of the temple – that one which we haven't explored yet.”

“But what is unusual there?” Desmond asked, standing up from the Animus. “The energy is all over the place.”

“In that part it's especially strong. Perhaps there is some surprise from the Precursors. I bet it's worth checking.”

Soon afterwards, they approached that place and actually found a gap in the wall behind which a long, narrow passageway was visible. Getting interested in the secret, Desmond turned to the others and said, “Seems like there may be something indeed. I'll go and see.”

But before he could step through the gap, William suddenly stopped him, softly putting his hand on his shoulder.

“I'll go with you.”

“With me?” Desmond asked in surprise, turning back to him.

“Yes. Just to be on the safe side. Besides, it won't hurt me to stretch my legs a bit. You don't mind, do you?”

“Um, no, I don't. It's okay,” Desmond agreed, sighing awkwardly. “Let's go, then.”

Desmond was the first to squeeze through the gap, William went right after him. No, he didn't doubt that his son could handle everything himself (though, he could be helpful, too), but that wasn't the point at all. After that talk, William had tried to spend as much time with him as he could, helped him, tried to come to an understanding with him. Desmond had become calmer as he stopped spending so much time in the Animus, and hadn't quarreled with his father anymore – it seemed like he himself wanted to make peace with him once and for all. Though, there was one hitch...

William still hadn't got an answer. And that worried him most of all as he sincerely wanted to become close to him as much as a real father and son could be.

When they approached the part where the passageway began widening, they climbed up the wall one by one and went abreast.

“I haven't seen you in action for ages,” Desmond remarked. Looking around, he added, “If Juno pops out of the wall and tries to scare you, don't worry, she often does so. I'm used to it.”

“Thanks for the warning,” William replied, humming; bearing in mind his recent experience, another surprise from a wall wouldn't be such a great suddenness for him.

The father and son ran forward, jumped over the gap and went to a new platform, climbed up the wall, whose part was sliding from side to side, bided their time, jumped on the ledge of another one and rushed again to the next obstacle – Desmond was demonstrating his splendid skills in all their glory, William was proving that he hadn't got rusty and, despite his age, was still a strong and skillful Assassin.

Together they successfully overcame the obstacle course of the Precursors and soon approached a new gap, which they could pass only by going on the ledge while pressing their spines against the wall.

Desmond went first again. Bits of the ledge crumbled a little under his feet, giving to understand that they had to be extremely careful here, but he managed to pass this obstacle without problems. William, however, was less lucky: when the stone collapsed in the end, he didn't react in time and could have fallen down if Desmond hadn't caught his hand at that instant, helping him to step on the firm platform.

“You aren't dropping your guard,” William muttered, breathing heavily; in his greatest shock, he didn't manage to stay on his feet and fell to his knee, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Good job.”

“As if I can drop it here,” Desmond remarked sarcastically but without spite. Holding his hand, he helped him to get to his feet. “Especially with you around.”

“Don't worry, there won't be any problem with me anymore," dusting himself off, William said, humming. He understood that Desmond, apart from his age, also meant their old trainings which once had been a challenge for him as much as the precursor obstacles were now, especially the one that reminded him of this situation – the lesson about vigilance.

“Are you sure about this?” Desmond remarked in irony, looking around again. "If only we could find a better way back…”

As he made a step aside, he trod on a flagstone – and the next second they saw that that ledge appeared to be a little bridge that came out of the wall and joined the two sides of the gap.

“Wow,” Desmond only exclaimed in surprise.

“There must be another one on that side,” in his turn, William muttered gloomily, understanding that that misstep could have cost him his life. “We should have taken a better look around there, without haste”.

They walked along the corridor and soon approached a wall standing in their way.

“Seems like there is something behind this wall indeed,” Desmond said as he activated his Eagle Vision and saw that the wall began shining with golden light. When he had examined it, he found that the wall wasn't fully attached to the others and could be pulled aside somehow.

Then they started searching for something that could open the door, touching everything they could reach, but even with Desmond's gift didn't manage to find anything. Eventually, William sighed tiredly and waved his hand, saying, “Alright, you can go and rest before the next session in the Animus.”

“But what about you?”

“I will stay here for a short while and try to open it.”

“Are you sure?” Desmond asked, seeing no sense in searching for the key to this door now. “Maybe we better take a camera and then try to solve this puzzle with Shaun?”

“Everything can be much easier than we think,” William answered calmly. “Don't worry, I'll manage to return to you myself.”

“Um, alright, then,” Desmond said in hesitation, suddenly remembering that his father had been acting quite strangely lately. But seeing that he didn't intend to change his mind, he turned back, adding in a light worry, “Just come back soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Having followed his son with his eyes, William sighed heavily and turned to the wall again. Humming nervously, he murmured as he started looking around, “Wonder if he is here now…”

“Are you looking for someone?” said a voice with a pleasant British accent, in which laughing notes were audible, at that instant.

“You've been following us all this time?” folding his arms across his chest, William asked somewhat discontentedly as he turned back and saw his ancestor standing right in front of him.

“I wanted to make sure you handle everything well,” Haytham nodded. As he approached William, he added with that same familiar smile, not hiding his warm, nostalgic feelings, “You do work together just like I and Connor did.”

“It will be interesting to see how you worked with each other,” William, however, said that in a serious and even gloomy voice, watching Haytham examine this place – he hadn't forgotten what he saw in the Animus. All the facts were at such odds that now he didn't know what to believe. Therefore, he didn't hesitate to ask, “Incidentally, I heard in the Animus that you and Charles Lee were the ones who arranged Connor's execution. How do you explain that? Could you actually send your son to death?”

“So you think it was Achilles who saved him from the rope, don't you?” grinning mysteriously, Haytham answered his question with a question and turned to the wall again.

“It wasn't?” William said in puzzlement, taken aback with that answer – he didn't even think about another possible course of events. “Or... wait, are you telling me that you sent him to the gallows and then saved him yourself? How?” he asked, surprised at his own guess. But Haytham had already hidden behind the wall.

“It's rather dark here,” the voice informed of the situation on the other side, leaving that question without an answer. A few moments later, William, however, heard a strange rising sound, and the voice added, “Well, not anymore.”

“Is something in there?” William asked, deciding to talk about Connor's rescue later.

“Actually, I see nothing except shining symbols on the walls,” was the reply. “Just wait a minute, I'll do something–”

“Maybe I'd better come back here another time and try to open it with the others?” William said, beginning to doubt that it was a good idea to stay here and ask the ghost for a help. But this time he didn't get an answer at all.

However, soon the wall started moving aside indeed, and he saw the ghost standing in the room.  
  
“How did you do that?” William asked in astonishment. He came in and began examining this small room, whose walls were decorated with familiar symbols of Those Who Came Before, but itself it appeared to be empty. He only had a feeling of some strong energy that seemed to be kept here. “Are you someone like… a Precursor?”

“I don't think so,” Haytham answered sceptically – although he couldn't deny that he was slightly flattered by this hypothesis. “As far as I know, I was a descendant of the First Civilization and had an ability to notice things and aims which were difficult to see in the crowd. Maybe I still have something from them even after my death, I don't know.”

“It might be so. Desmond has this ability, too,” William agreed.  
  
“I have no other explanation,” the ghost shrugged his shoulders. In the meantime, he decided to give some sort of answer to the previous question, “I'll tell you later what actually happened on the gallows.”

“I hope so,” William said, deciding to remind his ancestor about his promise as soon as they met each other once again.

“Don't worry, I will.” Then, after a pause, Haytham went on, “Truth to be told, sometimes I have a wish to strangle Charles with my bare hands.”

“I understand you,” William agreed, smiling quite awkwardly. He would do the same to any person who raised their hand against his son, but still remembered that he himself was the reason why trainings were such a hard time for Desmond.

“I wish I knew that while I had the opportunity,” Haytham added, sighing in frustration. Then he looked at the walls again and returned to the current problem, “Wonder what is hidden here–”

However, when William touched one of those symbols, a sudden flash of light blinded them, then a new – this time lowering – sound came, and the next moment the room was plunged into pitch darkness.

“And... what was that?” William only managed to mutter with light nervousness as he took his hand off his face.

“I have no idea,” Haytham answered, puzzled as much as he. “Maybe–”

But he didn't manage to finish the sentence – as the next moment they felt someone's presence behind, much stronger and sinister than the ghost's energy. Then there came a familiar female voice which spoke slowly but so piercingly in its cold fury that both treasure hunters froze up, afraid to look back:

“What. Are. You. DOING HERE?”

Finally, William forced himself to turn around – and he could swear that he had never seen anything more frightening than now. There, blocking the way to the exit, stood Juno; her face, usually so cold and imperturbable, was twisted with rage, her eyes, completely lit with golden light, looked as if she wanted to burn them to ashes, and her shaking hands seemed to be ready to tear them apart. And he couldn't imagine what she was going to do with them now.

“You mustn't be here. You... you have no idea what you've done!” They stepped aside just as she rushed forward, reaching the end of the room in an instant. Desperately looking at the walls in disbelief, she jabbed her finger at the living human and cried, “You'll regret this, mark my words!”

Then she threw a menacing glance at the ghost and left them alone.

They stood still for some moments, trying to get over the shock. After which William, still trying to remember how to breathe normally again, slowly said:

“What... what the hell was that?”

“It seems like we've done something wrong,” Haytham finally managed to say something.  
  
“It seems so. She could have at least explained to us what happened,” pulling himself together, William shook his head. As he looked around and didn't see anybody else this time, he sighed in relief and added, having no intention of staying here for a second longer, “Let's go. I think the thing that was held in this room is not here anymore. Whatever it was.”

However, when William took a first step, he began shaking out of nowhere and felt a sharp pain piercing his head like a blade – breathing heavily, he pressed his hand against his forehead and leaned on the nearest wall, trying to remain standing. Everything around him became just a blur, and he managed to see only Haytham's vague silhouette that flew to him the next instant.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think…” William answered a few moments later when the pain began going away, and surroundings became clear again. He took his hand off his forehead. “It was just a sudden headache, nothing more.” Then he looked at Haytham again and added, squinting, “But you seem to become brighter.”

“You think so?” Haytham asked in surprise. “Hm, curious.”

Suddenly, they heard steps getting louder in the distance, and William, turning back, saw Desmond running to him as fast as he could; Haytham hurried to hide in the nearest wall.

“A-are you alright, Dad?” breathing heavily, Desmond asked, looking at his father with great, undisguised worry.

“Alright,” William replied, heading to his son. Truth to be told, he didn't expect to see Desmond so concerned about him but didn't show any surprise. “But why did you come back?"

“I heard a strange noise, as if something... was opening,” Desmond explained, still trying to catch his breath. Then he looked behind his father and saw that that mysterious stone door was open indeed. “Did you find something?”

“I don't know,” William answered honestly. He put his hand on his son's shoulder and led him back to their team, feeling that that incident would come back to bite them, just as Juno had said. “Let's go, I will tell you everything later.”  
  


* * *

  
“It must have been scary to look at Juno,” Desmond said, stuffing himself with noodles. He was sitting at the folding table near his father who had told him, Shaun and Rebecca about his little adventure, having missed the detail about the ghost's help and so remade some other particulars.

“It was,” William nodded gloomily. He'd already put aside his plate of bacon and now was sluggishly pulling his noodles up with his fork: for some reason, he wanted to vomit at the sight of any food. What was more, that headache now tortured him as if it was trying to split his skull apart, and the chamber was getting too stuffy and hot for him. That was worrying him very much.  
  
“You haven't eaten anything,” Desmond said in anxiety, also noticing the signs of sickness in him. “Don't want to?”

“Yes, I'll lunch later,” William said and stood up from his chair. With his trembling hand, he took a bottle of water standing on the table and drank it greedily, then unbuttoned his collar, which now seemed eager to strangle him at any moment, and finally decided to go and take a rest, so that he could try to recover by himself without bothering anybody.

But when he took his first step, he stopped, groaning, reeled backwards and clutched his head with his both hands, gasping for breath – the pain became simply unbearable, his stomach with insides churned, and in a second it got so hot as if his whole body was set on fire. But when he opened his eyes – he saw that everything around him was colored in blue and things all over the chamber started shining with golden light, fading and then lighting up again and again.

“God…” William mumbled and collapsed to his knees. Then, to his horror, he felt a salty taste in his mouth and saw a red drop falling to the ground.

His blood.

In the distance, he suddenly heard a piercing voice crying “Dad!” in fright – and the next instant, losing his consciousness, fell into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

_Fire is everywhere. The ground, covering with deep, countless wounds, has opened up under the ruthless light of the sun. Volcanoes have erupted, lava is flowing down and burning everything on its way. The sky is not seen through the black smoke of conflagrations. Skyscrapers are shattering into millions pieces of glass, houses are falling apart and burying people's lives under the ruins. Chaos, screams, turmoil, panic are everywhere – people are trampling and knocking each other down, nobody knows what to do, where to run, how to save themselves, and just a few of them who have not lost their self-control are trying to find a safe place or their families. The Hell has opened its gates on the remains of civilization, ready to let in millions of people's souls._

_Two children, in ragged clothes bedaubed with ash, are running to their house as fast as they can – they are looking for their parents. Crying and gasping, the girl stumbles and lags behind her older brother – he helps her to stand up, trying to remain strong despite his own fear and desperation._

_“Mike!”_

_Turning back at her dreadful scream, the boy sees the ground splitting between them, his sister fails to jump back and falls down – he dashes to her but has no chance to catch. A cry of desperation rips through the air, but he can do nothing – only watches her disappear in the endless abyss..._

“God.”

In horror, William opened his eyes. The nightmarish pictures of the end of humanity were still flashing before his eyes, the hopeless cry echoing in his ears. Not realizing what was real, he was gasping for breath, his whole body trembling, beads of cold sweat running down his forehead, his head splitting unbearably. As he heard someone exclaiming “Desmond, Shaun, come here, he's waking up!”, he lifted himself on his elbow and finally understood that this voice belonged to Rebecca Crane, and he, undressed, was lying in his sleeping bag. Soon he saw his whole team gathered around him, and Desmond, holding a bottle of water, helped him take a few careful sips. Then his son put his hand on his warm wet forehead and said in his greatest relief:

“Finally, Dad, you're awake! You were in a coma for three days, we were worried sick about you!”

“Three days?” William asked in shock, staring open-eyed at them.

“Yes,” Shaun nodded. “You had a fever, high blood pressure, shortness of breath and bloody nose.”

“Oh,” William mumbled in awkwardness, trying not to show his confusion. Then he asked, highly concerned about the future of the world, “So, have you found something while I was unconscious?”

“Well, we went to the city for medicines twice, and I’ve been searching for Captain Kidd's treasure…” rubbing the back of his neck, Desmond confessed awkwardly. Worrying about his father, he actually hadn't spent a lot of time in the Animus, helping the others treat him – and he already felt that William wouldn't like his report at all.

He wasn't wrong.

“So you’re saying that all these days you've been searching for those trinkets all over the forest and looking after me instead of exploring Connor's key memories?” William asked, not noticing that a flame of rage began slowly rising inside his chest.

“Um, yes…” Desmond mumbled in growing awkwardness, “but–”

“You do understand what is put on the line, don't you?” still seeing that deadly pale face of the little girl in his mind, William uttered in growing indignation, not letting him justify himself. “The future of the WHOLE planet depends on you. And it doesn't matter what happened to me, you MUST save the world.”

“Yes, yes. Save the world,” Desmond repeated gloomily and got to his feet. Imitating his father's voice, he muttered as he headed back to the Animus, “Thank you, Shaun, Rebecca, Desmond, what would I do without you...?”

“In fact, you could actually thank them,” a few moments later, William heard a familiar voice, turned his head and saw his Templar ancestor sitting by his side. “They did much to bring you back to life.”

Looking around, William saw a half-open bag in which he noticed an oxygen mask, syringes and ampoules with antipyretic and some other medicines.

“It was really so bad…” he murmured in growing confusion, now regretting what he had said to his son.

“It was. But I wasn't wrong to believe that you would pull through,” Haytham said in his usual calm tone. “Wonder what did this to you.”

“If it was Juno, then she almost managed to kill me.” Grunting, William tried to get to his feet but changed his mind immediately, feeling awful weakness in his whole body. “But before I lost my consciousness, something else had happened to me…”

“What was it?”

“I think that now I have that ability to notice hidden things, too. Eagle Vision,” William answered. Looking forward, he tried to concentrate, and soon everything around him was colored in dark-blue again, and Desmond's silhouette sitting in the Animus began shining with azure light. But he regretted it instantly as he started bleeding from his nose again and felt faint.

“Haven't you had it before?” Haytham asked in surprise. “You're a descendant of the Precursors, too.”

“That's true, I suppose, but... I didn't inherit it. I inherited nothing from them,” William answered, wiping the red trickle on the back of his hand. “Maybe it happened because we had done something in that room? There must be a reason why Juno was so angry then.”

“It's entirely possible,” the ghost agreed.

“What's more…” flinching, William paused for a few seconds as the vague fragments of pictures from his nightmare began coming back, “I had a vision. Of the end of the world. Of what can happen if we don't manage to stop it in time. Or... what will happen anyway. Inevitably. No matter what we do.”

“You think it was a prediction about the future of the Earth, don't you?”

“I don't know. Maybe it was a warning about the possible future from Juno. So as to hurry us up,” William suggested, frowning. “Anyway, she's definitely keeping something back.”

“Are you going to tell the others about the vision?”

“I’m not sure, actually. It could be just a sort of hallucination, a nightmare. I don't see any weighty reason to worry them,” William said, though he was more likely trying to convince himself of that. What if it really was a vision of their unavoidable failure, and everything they'd done and gone through would be just in vain..?

“I also think there is no need to tell them about it. You shouldn't take some visions on trust. You need to do everything you can. Besides, I believe in your team and I am sure you'll handle anything,” Haytham said with conviction, determined to help them with their arduous mission.

“Thank you,” a little encouraged by his words, William said, feeling that the composure of the ghost began calming him down. “We must do everything to make sure that this nightmare won't come true, and–”

“Bill…”

They heard Rebecca's voice and turned back to see her heading to them with a bowl in her hands – moreover, it was impossible for her not to notice Haytham from that angle.

“I brought you something to eat,” she went on as she sat in front of him. There was porridge in the bowl.

“Thank you…” William said somewhat awkwardly, taking the bowl and putting it on his knees when he'd managed to sit in his sleeping bag with Rebecca's help – he wasn't used to be treated with care at all. What was more, he and Haytham, who was still sitting by his side in confusion, came to a conclusion that she really didn't see the ghost.

“Had a bloody nose again?” she asked in worry, pulling a pack of wet wipes out of the bag with medicines and wiping his blood off his hand and face. Then she touched the spoon and said, “Maybe you need a little help?”

“Oh, no, no, no, I-I can do it myself, actually, Rebecca, there is no need, thanks!” totally embarrassed with such care, William refused, blushing – but didn't manage to hold the spoon in his weak, trembling hand. Rebecca only sighed, took the bowl back, spooned the porridge and said with sympathy, “It's alright, Bill, really, it's alright. And you really need to eat.”

“How bad do l look?” William asked his ancestor gloomily when Rebecca had helped him to lay himself down and left them alone, taking the empty bowl away.

“As if you leapt from a viewpoint into a haystack but missed it a bit.”

“Great,” William snorted in bitterness. He let out a muffled groan as he felt that terrible pain striking his whole body once again, and turned his head to Haytham, getting slightly worried again, “So, what about you? Have anything happened to you since that incident?”

“Truth to be told, I haven't noticed any change. Apart from the fact that the others actually appear not to notice me.”

“I don't think they've been able to see you before,” William hummed again, remembering those unpleasant talks behind his back in which he, however, still hadn't heard any mention of the ghost. “But you actually seem to become brighter.”

“Maybe something has changed in me indeed,” Haytham only shrugged his shoulders, not seemed to be paying much attention to this fact. “But now you'd better take some rest. I'll see you later.”  
  


* * *

  
A couple of days later, Desmond, who had failed to explain to his father Shaun's theory that Captain Kidd's treasure could be a Piece of Eden, finally managed to explore all those memories. It turned out that he didn't waste the time at all: the treasure appeared to be a ring of Eden indeed. Then, while he was chasing Nicholas Biddle, Shaun detected a similar manifestation of precursor energy at some distance from the cave. Soon they pinpointed its precise location – the place where once Connor's village had been – and later actually found that ring which Connor or one of his descendants had hidden there for safety. William, however, had spent all those days in the temple and, with care of his whole team, was recovering very well, taking into account how much time he'd been lying unconscious. And when he heard that Desmond finally began experiencing Connor's memories of working with Haytham (the ghost had told him about that in advance), he expressed his wish to watch them all.

  
  
_A young man in a white hood stepped on the rotten floorboard and slowly entered a decrepit church, forsaken by people and the god itself long ago. Warily looking around, he, however, hadn't noticed another visitor of the ruin who was lurking from the balk above him – and the next moment was knocked down and pressed against the floor._

_“Father.”_

_“Connor.”_

“So, that's how fathers and sons meet each other for the first time in their lives?” meanwhile, William murmured in the present, left alone with the ghost again, and stared open-eyed at the monitor, sipping his morning coffee.

_“Any last words?”_

_“Wait.”_

_“A poor choice.”_

_At that very moment Connor kicked his father in the groin and threw him off, then sprang to his feet – and they began circling around like wolves, ready to rip each other's throats out._

“Well, maybe that wasn't the right moment for such things, but... hell, where is ‘Son, I'm so glad to finally meet you, how's your life, family, mom?’ ” already engrossed by the unfolding events, William exclaimed in disappointment.

“I wasn't thinking about that then,” Haytham answered, smiling at his comment.

_Then the father and son, having agreed to put their blades aside for a while, decided to go into temporary partnership and went looking for Benjamin Church. Thanks to Connor's brilliant skills, soon they actually found a wagoner whose wagon appeared to be broken._

_“Are you Ben Church's man?” approaching him, Connor asked simply, not even thinking of something bad – but for some reason the man suddenly recoiled and ran away from them as fast as he could._

_“Well played,” Haytham didn't hesitate to make a sarcastic remark, and his son, angry at himself, ran after the suspect._

“Good job indeed,” William agreed in irony; he returned to his coffee, keeping watching what was happening on the screen with undiminished interest.

“I didn't expect anything else from him,” Haytham added, noticing to himself how surprising it was to look at their relationship from a completely different angle. “Naive like a child, honestly.”

_However, when Connor pressed the wagoner against the tree and made him tell everything they wanted to know, Haytham's projection suddenly shoot the man in the head._

“That was... unexpected,” flinching, this time William managed to say only that. He didn't remember his ancestor acting this way in cases where he could spare someone else's life.

“He was of no use to us anymore,” the ghost muttered emotionlessly; however, his gloomy frown and pursed lips gave the impression that he didn't like watching himself at that moment either.

_Eventually, they decided to split apart, and a few minutes later Connor finally found the camp of Church's men where he saw his father caught as a spy. Hesitating no second, he rushed to rescue Haytham, after which a short fight began; though, soon it turned out that Haytham had completely different plans, so he felt no shame when he just upped and left his son alone in the middle of a battlefield._ Watching this spectacle of the absurd, William hummed but couldn't help commenting it this way:

“So it seems like I'm not the only shitty dad here.”

“You're not, as you see,” Haytham said, for some reason barely stopping himself from laughing this time. But he quickly regained his calmness and added, “But I was sure he would handle this himself. And he did fight greatly.”

“That's true, but leaving your son this way…” William looked at him in an accusing and even somewhat suspicious way, now wondering how likely it was that such a father could actually save his son from the gallows. But also remembering that Haytham could have killed Connor in the church if he'd really wanted to do that, he calmed down a little and turned to the monitor again.

Soon Shaun approached them and told some great news, after which Desmond finished his session and returned to the real world.

“Everything alright?” he asked, looking at his father and friend.

“Shaun had located a second power source. I've asked Rebecca to charter a flight for us,” William explained, ready to hit the road as soon as possible.

“Where to?” Desmond asked again, getting slightly worried when he'd exchanged a strange awkward glance with Shaun at the word “us”; that surprised William very much, though he managed to hide his bewilderment from them.

“Brazil,” Shaun answered; and the awkwardness in _his_ usually sarcastic tone sounded so weirdly that now William was completely taken aback.

But soon William finally understood everything – while searching the cave from the inside and out for his team, which seemed to disappear in the thin air, he suddenly heard Desmond's muffled voice coming from the depth of the temple; it looked like they'd been secretly discussing something that he wasn't supposed to hear.

“Look, we can't take him with us. What if something happens to him during the flight?” Desmond spoke, not hiding his concern anymore. “I was worried enough about him then.”

“That’s true, but we can't leave him alone either. Though it seems like he's already sick of our care,” Shaun explained. “We'll have to convince him somehow–”

“I think I can decide what I should do _myself_,” William cut him off coldly, coming out of the shadows with his hand clenched into a tight fist. “As an adult man.”

The trio flinched and turned to him instantly. Desmond, who looked even more confused than that time he'd been caught talking about the broken tablet, started shuffling his feet, and Rebecca, blushing, looked at Shaun who turned his eyes away and hid his hands in his pockets.

“Um, Dad, we are sorry for... that,” Desmond finally dared to break the silence, feeling that he, as the initiator, had to resolve the brewing conflict. “But we really shouldn't risk this way.”

“At least you could have discussed it with me in person instead of deciding for me,” William said glumly, indignant to hear them talking about such things behind his back once again. But seeing their confusion and understanding that they'd done that just for his own sake, he softened a little and sighed. After which he went on in a much calmer voice as he thought things over and decided to make some concessions, “Well, maybe it would really be better for me to stay here, but I can take care of myself. Stop looking at me as if I can drop dead at any moment, it's all over now and I'm in pretty good shape.” That was true: he'd still been weak since that day, which meant that he could actually feel bad during the flight, but he hadn't had a temperature, high blood pressure, or bloody nose anymore, not even headache or any other symptom which could lead to another coma. “Besides, I've been in much worse situations than then.”

“But you're not that young anymore, Bill,” Rebecca objected in worry. “And if it was Juno…”

“If it really was her, I wouldn't have been standing here anymore,” William said firmly. “I'll be alright. While each of you can be helpful there, especially if Desmond messes something up once again.”

“Ah, right, what else I'm good at,” snorting, Desmond made a discontented face and folded his hands across his chest.

“Sorry, but I haven't seen you make anything without screwing up,” William said sarcastically, putting his arms in exactly the same position.

“Of course, you haven't.” Then Desmond suddenly remembered about an ace up his sleeve and snapped his fingers, eyes gleaming in triumph, “Besides, I have the ring. If something goes wrong, it will help me out!”

“Have you checked it?” William quickly cooled his ardor.

“Well, not yet…” Desmond said awkwardly. But he didn't get confused and added, “But I can try it there.”

“We’d better try it right now,” William insisted; Desmond only rolled his eyes but stopped arguing anyway.

As they walked to the dining area, Desmond approached the table, stretched out his hand with the ring in the direction of metallic spoons, and waited for a few seconds. But they didn't budge.

“Strange…” Desmond muttered in confusion and tried to wave his hand – again, without any effect. Then, puzzled, he took the ring off and gave it to Shaun. “Have there been any cases where Pieces of Eden lost their power?”

“As far as I remember – no,” examining the artifact, Shaun replied in great surprise. “Maybe we need to activate it somehow?”

“We can do it later,” William returned everyone to the current problem, looking at his whole team with great seriousness. “We need this power source. The future of something more than one or several lives depends on us, and we have no margin for error. So, if I have to stay here, then you three must go together anyway.” Seeing that they were still hesitating, looking at each other in confusion, he added calmly, “It will take maximum of three days. Everything will be fine, I'll handle it. But now the most important thing for us is to find the power source.”

“Well, it really may be rather problematical to monitor your movements from here, Desmond.” Maybe he became too embarrassed about talking behind their leader's back, maybe William's confidence had convinced him, he agreed that searching for the power source was more important indeed, or all these things together, but Shaun suddenly decided to take William's side and reject his own suggestion. “While you may actually need some help there.”

“What, you support this?” Desmond asked in disbelief. “But what if... what if Templars find the temple?”

“If they do, I'll see them on the cameras and think of something,” William assured him. “And let you know about them immediately.”

“But_–_”

“That's settled,” this phrase stopped the argument once and for all. “And now, it's time for you to get ready for the flight.”  
  


* * *

  
“Are you sure you made the right decision?” Haytham asked his descendant when Desmond, Shaun and Rebecca had left the temple. “We are left alone with Juno here.”

“At least it was the best,” William turned to his ancestor and headed back to the main chamber. “What's more, I don't think it was Juno: she would hardly ever give me the Eagle Vision. Maybe I went into the coma because of some sort of radiation produced by that flash of light from that room. Besides, I'm really in good shape now. I'll handle it.”

“Good, if that's true,” the ghost said in reply.

“So, you actually can't come out of the temple, right?” William asked, turning to the temple exit again. He still didn't understand what could keep his ancestor here in captivity.

“Right," Haytham confirmed. “Every time I approach the exit, I have a feeling as if I'm becoming weaker. I don't want to risk my existence this way.”

“I was just thinking the other day,” William began with all seriousness in his voice, “that we'll have to leave the temple once we finish everything here. And if we don't find the way to return you to the other world, you'll stay here. Probably forever.” He paused, waiting for his ancestor to answer, but got only a heavy silence and so went on, “There's not much we two can do alone, but Shaun may help us in this case. Maybe it's time to tell them about you?” He waited for a few moments but heard nothing in reply again. “Just tell me when you are ready.”

“Alright,” Haytham said in a quiet, gloomy voice – he himself knew perfectly well that this outcome was more than possible. However, a few moments later he decided to change the subject, having no desire to speak about his fate anymore, “As far as I remember, you wanted to know how exactly Connor had escaped the gallows, didn't you?”

“Yes, I would be glad to hear that,” William nodded. He'd been constantly forgetting to remind his ancestor about his promise indeed.

“So, that’s how it happened. I did agree to arrange his execution–”

“How nice,” William hummed, raising his brow and folding his arms across his chest.

“I haven't told everything yet,” the ghost said, slightly annoyed that he'd interrupted him. “I didn't even think of letting it happen and came in disguise to his execution. The Assassins had put their archer on the roof in order to cut the rope when the trapdoor under Connor opened and he was hanged, though they were probably hoping he would do the rest with his own weight. Anyway, as the archer actually didn't manage to cut it completely, I couldn't bear it any longer and threw a knife in the rope. Then Connor fell down the trapdoor, and I fled away.”

“And he saved Washington from Hickey,” William finished, considering that such an unusual course of events could be the truth indeed. “So it turns out that you betrayed your Order and saved your son?”

“Yes,” Haytham nodded. “I couldn't do otherwise, no matter how bad father I was.”

They walked in silence and stopped in front of a blue shining wall that stood in the center of the chamber, blocking the way to the other part of the temple.

“Have you ever been behind the door?” William asked, peering into this cloudy vitreous substance, but couldn't make out anything.

“No, I haven't,” Haytham shook his head. “Although I tried to get through it. I can't do that even from the open sides. It seems like it's surrounded by an invisible barrier.”

“Anyway, there must be something that will help us save the world. And we still need a key to open it,” William explained, worried by the unknown. Then, as he looked at the hole for a key to the door, he suddenly remembered what he should have asked Haytham long ago, and turned to the ghost again, squinting as though he was trying to understand whether his answer would be honest or not, “Speaking about the key... That precursor amulet which you had while you were alive – where did you leave it after your death? This is that thing we're looking for.”

“That amulet…” Haytham didn't answer right away, which made William tense up at once. Then the ghost only sighed and said, “I don't know where it is now.”

“You don't..?” William trailed off, staring at him in disbelief. That was the last thing he expected to hear.

“I gave it to Charles,” Haytham explained, now feeling sorry for that decision. “I didn't want the Assassins to have it again.”

“So... where can it be now?” William asked in big confusion. This little detail made things much more complicated at once, but bearing in mind that they were running out of time, in the end it could lead to a real disaster.

“Maybe Connor took it,” the ghost suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “Charles lived just a little longer than I did.”

“You could have told me about that earlier,” William said in disappointment. If they had already known where the amulet was, Desmond wouldn't have to sit in the Animus anymore – but now he had no idea whether they would find the key in time or not.

“You didn’t ask,” Haytham shrugged again.

“Didn't ask…” William muttered gloomily. Well, that was true indeed: fearing being deceived, he hadn't wanted to ask him about the amulet for a long time, even when they started coming to an understanding – as after all those strange events he'd actually begun forgetting about this question. “Well, someday it would have been revealed anyway. We have to only hope that Connor actually found it in the end.”

Turning to the temple exit, he added in undisguised worry:

“Though, now I only want them to be alright there.”  
  


* * *

  
Time began flowing extremely slowly. While waiting for the news, William soon discovered that he had done all his work and actually had nothing else to do, so he devoted these wonderful hours to his book and Haytham, who decided to read it by his side as well and then discuss literature of the past and present. After taking a little nap in the meantime, William struck up a conversation about scientific discoveries and inventions of the modern time, after which he decided to check his phone, which could start ringing at any moment (and where, of course, so much needed music was), but found it, to his greatest annoyance, almost dead. During that day, he'd taken the nth walk around the cave, which he already knew from inside and out, checked his mail and the cameras at the entrance twice more – so he got so tired of this godforsaken temple that in the end he asked his ancestor how on earth he managed not to die of boredom here, then remembered that Haytham was already dead, and empathized wholeheartedly with his unenviable situation until Shaun (“Thank goodness!”) called him and told that they had reached Brazil at last. And though the signal suddenly disappeared, which worried everyone instantly, it soon was located at the stadium, on the bracelet of some magnate's wife. What was more, Rebecca managed to upgrade the system, so that it was possible to monitor Desmond's movements from the cave as well.

“Desmond’s doing a great job indeed, his skills are wonderful,” Haytham said in excitement, feeling proud of his younger descendant as they watched the figure in a white hoodie easily hide in the crowd, take down guards and walk on the trusses over the arena. “You trained him perfectly well.”

“Actually, it wasn't me who taught him that,” William said in hesitation, getting gloomy at once. Feeling bewilderment in Haytham's eyes, he explained, “In the Animus, he copies his ancestors' actions, remembers them and then can repeat them in his real life. Though I did train him as a child. We lived far away from civilization so the Templars didn't find us, and I had to hide him from the rest of the world. He didn’t understand why, didn't see the danger – I didn't manage to explain it to him – and at the age of sixteen ran away from home. I'd been looking for him for nine years, but eventually the Templars got ahead once again and found him just a bit earlier than me. I guess, by that time he'd forgotten everything I'd taught him. So it turns out that his ancestors have taught him everything he knows now.”

“So your relationship was even worse than I thought,” Haytham said in great empathy – he'd never asked William about such things more than he himself saw fit to tell him.

“Yes,” William confirmed, averting his gaze. Then, sighing in bitterness, he added after a heavy pause, “Though it seems like I'd tought him something since he managed to escape from me then.”

“Anyway, I don’t think that things you gave to him could be actually wasted.”

“Maybe. But it hardly matters anything now,” in sadness, William looked at the screen again. On the one hand, he was also proud of his son who had learned such wonderful skills and managed to become a real Master Assassin. But on the other – he was deeply disappointed in himself that he didn't manage to give Desmond anything at all.

However, soon afterwards something went wrong – when Desmond reached the other side of the arena, the picture on the screen suddenly disappeared because of some strange interference.

“What the–” William broke off, trying to fix it himself, but to no avail. Then he tried to call Shaun and ask what had happened – but only found that there was no signal in the cave indeed.

“Maybe something’s happened outside?” Haytham suggested.

“I don't know. But it seemed like there was nobody around,” William replied, switching to the cameras at the cave entrance. To his greater surprise, they weren't working either.

“I checked them two minutes ago, everything was fine!” The first William's thought was about the Templars who had probably found the temple and somehow managed to shut the cameras and network down, so nobody was able to notice them.

But then things got worse than ever.

Flinching, William heard a loud, slow screech of the opening temple entrance – and felt his living heart skipping a beat.

“Hell…”

Now, it was really getting scary.

As he pulled himself together, the first thing he did was to spring to his feet and hide behind the nearest wall. It would be madness to fight alone.

However, after waiting a few seconds in tension, he was surprised to hear neither steps nor voices in the distance. Then he turned to Haytham, who was hiding by his side, and peered at him suspiciously.

“That’s not my fault,” Haytham said firmly, looking straight into his eyes.

“What else could it be, then?” William muttered and looked out of the ruin, deciding to go and check what had happened with the entrance.

Illuminating his way with a glow stick (for some reason, symbols on the walls stopped shining, too), he went into the pitch-dark corridor and followed the ghost, trying not to stumble on anything.

“Could you check what’s happened with the entrance, please?” William asked his ancestor, pointing upward; there was a little slope leading to the stone door, and the team usually climbed it up the ropes. But without light he didn't want to do that in his condition at all.

“Of course,” the ghost nodded and flew up to the part that was out of William’s sight. Then there came a reply, “Hm, I don't see anybody here, but the entrance itself is half-open indeed.”

“Strange,” William murmured in confusion. He simply didn't know what to think. “Is it possible for you to close it?”

“I will try.”

The minutes seemed to be pure torture to William while he was nervously peering into the darkness, unable to do anything. Unfortunately, for this agonizing waiting he was rewarded only with a disappointing answer:

“No, I can do nothing.”

“Damn,” his presentiment grew stronger and stronger by the second.

They came back to the main chamber where William tried to contact his team again – sadly, he didn't manage to do that either as there was still no signal in the cave. Then he went to the dining area to make a cup of coffee: he hoped it would help him calm his nerves and stop worrying about his team and his own safety so much. When he made it, he sat at the table and touched the surface of that wonderful hot drink with his lips, though his hand was shaking slightly. Soon, however, he suddenly felt that familiar presentiment again – just when he heard some strange noises in the distance, as if there was someone else in the temple apart from him himself and the ghost.

Then he slowly turned back and understood that his hunch was right indeed.

_Fuck, what–_

William sprang from his chair and backed away, looking right in the middle of the chamber. There, a grey wolf was standing, big, bad and, most importantly – real. Seeing that it was sniffing the floor in search of prey and so hadn't noticed him yet, William took a step aside, hoping to reach the platforms noiselessly – it would be suicide to attack without any weapon. But at that very moment the beast raised its head and looked in his direction, then bared its fangs and rushed towards him.

William darted to the stairs, feeling at once how weak he still was after those events – rough movements made his head spin, his knees buckled – that he stumbled on the last step and collapsed onto the floor. Roaring menacingly, the wolf had reached the stairs and now was dashing toward him – William, having no time to stand up, prepared to fight back somehow...

But then his salvation came.

The ghost figure appeared in front of him, obstructing the beast's way – and the next moment the wolf stopped and started to back away, growling in defence.

They feel the dead.

“It’s your chance.”

Losing no time, William got to his feet, slipped through a gap in the ruin and went down the stairs on the other side of that half-ruined wall, hearing the wolf’s roar behind it. This could be his only opportunity to get the weapon – he had to kill the beast anyway as it could attack his team when they returned to the temple, unaware of this danger. And it didn't matter whether he was weak or not, he had to do that by any means.

Holding on to the wall, William went down the last step and then, as his dizziness had gone, ran. His bag with his hidden blades was sitting near the generator with the first power source. As he reached it, he took out one blade, wore it on his hand and started fastening the straps – then heard a shout:

“William, behind you!”

Fastening the last strap, William turned back but didn't manage to attack in time – only grabbed the wolf by its neck right when it toppled him onto the floor. Then, with the ghost's help, he threw the beast off himself and got to his feet.

Feeling that now he was barely standing up, William knew – one mistake, and he met his end.

The wolf made its last leap, William bided his time – and the next moment the beast fell dead to the ground with a blade in its neck.

“Done…”

Exhaling loudly, William stepped back. As he felt an edge of a table behind his spine, he put his hand with the bloody blade on it and flopped into the chair, burying his face in his other palm.

“That was a close call,” Haytham said quietly, approaching him.

“Indeed,” William muttered, still trying to catch his breath. As he did that, he took a deep breath and exhaled, then looked at his ancestor in appreciation, “Thanks for your help.”

“Don't mention it.”

“I never thought that one day I would be saved by a Templar,” meanwhile, William murmured to himself, looking at the animal’s corpse. “But how on earth did it get inside?”

He couldn't let go of a feeling that he'd become a victim of someone's cruel joke.

The answer, however, came to them itself.

Suddenly, they heard a clap. Turning back, they saw Juno – she stood nearby, applauding them with a satisfied smile on her face. When she appeared, the symbols on the walls started shining again.

“It was you who opened the entrance, wasn't it?” William asked coldly, expecting to hear only one answer.

“Who else could it be?” she smirked.

Well, there hadn't been a lot of versions indeed.

“I must say, you have a pretty shitty sense of humor,” William snorted, looking at her in pure hate.

“That's what I have,” her smirk grew wider. “But bearing in mind what had happened to you recently, that was a rather impressive spectacle.”

“Impressive, you say?” William repeated darkly, blinking, and suddenly began chuckling nervously. Hell, taking into account what an amazing time he'd had in this fucking temple, he could even understand her: if he'd been stuck here for a couple of millennia in condition when you can't even die of boredom, and then here had come some puny little humans and begun putting spokes into his wheel – he would have definitely wanted to take all this annoyance out on somebody. Though – no, that was too crazy. “So it was actually you who put me in the coma, right?”

“Alas, that wasn't me. Otherwise you'd have never woken up again,” Juno said with a sigh of the greatest frustration. Then, however, she suddenly became serious and added, “But you’ve seen what will happen if you keep letting Desmond waste the time. And you both will soon regret opening that room.”

“Why can't she just explain what actually happened there?” William muttered tiredly, feeling no fear of that threat that had just hidden in the nearest wall. “All that I got from that room is just simple Eagle Vision, nothing more”.

“Maybe you got something more serious as well, and she doesn't want to talk about it,” Haytham suggested. Then he added after a short pause, “Though, she's a pretty weird woman, I must note.”

“The weirdest one,” William sighed, taking off his blade. Truth to be told, he didn't want to think of what on Earth they had done in that room to inspire somebody to make such a sincere attempt on his life. And they would have to keep putting up with this crazy thing, for they couldn't get rid of her, and she knew the way to save the world. “I said her something once, she was so angry then. Seems like today she decided to put me in my place.”

“I’m not surprised,” the ghost hummed. “What are you going to do with the wolf?” he asked, looking at the killed animal.

“Desmond will take care of it. I don't want to see it anymore,” William finally managed to stand up from the chair in order to take a wet wipe, wipe his blade and then try to contact the others again.

“How long will they be there?”

“If everything goes well, I think they’ll be here in the morning,” William replied. Then, having found a pack of wipes, he asked, “If I suddenly fall asleep, would you wake me up in case something happens once again?”

“Of course…”  
  


* * *

  
“Dad!”

Desmond ran into the temple chamber, looking around in anxiety. They hadn't managed to contact his father, and he'd been worried about him very much. And though the temple entrance appeared to be closed, that didn't allay his worry in the slightest.

“Maybe he is sleeping, we just actually didn't manage to contact him?” Rebecca suggested, concerned about their leader no less than her friend. However, when she put a box with their equipment on her table, she suddenly noticed a dark-red stain on its edge and drew back in fright, “Blood?”

Then she looked forward and saw a wolf's corpse, the fur on its neck covered with blood.

“What the hell happened here?” Shaun said in shock.

“And where is my father?” Desmond asked in much greater worry.

When he reached the center of the chamber, he suddenly noticed a silhouette in the sleeping area. There, he finally found his father sleeping on his sleeping bag, his arm put under his head; mumbling something, William only turned over in his sleep but didn't wake up. There was his hidden blade as well lying by his side.

“It was you who said he wouldn't handle everything himself, wasn't it?” Shaun whispered, approaching them.

“Yeah…” Desmond muttered. He admired his father's courage, but now he actually felt awkward about doubting him. “Let's go to Rebecca, or we’ll wake him up.”

He threw the last glance at William and followed Shaun, speculating and having no idea what had actually happened here – for he didn't know about another denizen of the temple who'd stood by their side and watched over them, ready to come to the rescue in the hour of need.


	6. Chapter 6

_A ray of sunshine slipped through slightly open curtains and touched the face of a seven-year-old boy sleeping in his bed. As he felt the playful light in his eyes waiting for him to greet the new day, he mumbled something in discontent and tried to hide from the sun under the blanket. But soon he understood that he wouldn't fall asleep again anyway – so then, yawning, he stretched, sat on his bed and started rubbing his eyes._

_Slowly waking up, the boy looked around his small room. There wasn't much to make you think that it was actually a child's room – only a sheet of paper with big scribbles lying on the table, a bookshelf full of various adventure stories, and an old teddy bear with a battered ear sitting on his bed. As he looked at the clock on the table, he understood that it was already 11 a.m.. It surprised him greatly as he was usually woken up much earlier (and today, as far as he remembered, was only Tuesday), so he got to his feet and headed straight into the corridor._

_As he slowly opened a kitchen door, he saw his mother humming a joyful song while making breakfast, and stopped in the doorway, looking at her in puzzlement._

_“Good morning, Desmond,” she smiled kindly, turning to her son. Tenderness and infinite love were shining in her eyes._

_“Morning, Mom,” somewhat confused, Desmond said and looked around the kitchen. “Is today a special day?”_

_“Of course!” here came a familiar and unusually cheerful male voice. “Today's Christmas Eve.”_

_Turning back, Desmond saw William heading to them in his dressing gown; right after him, stepping gracefully with her little paws, a proud beauty with shiny black fur walked in. It was a cat named Faith who was loved by everyone in their little family; for so many years she'd been creating an atmosphere of comfort and calmness in their hard lives while defending their home from mice. Smiling, William approached his son and put his hand on his shoulder – though he smiled rarely, in such moments it always made his face unbelievably sincere and warm._

_Right, today was December 24th – today was Christmas Eve..._

_“So, there will be no training today?” overflowing with inexpressible happiness, Desmond broke into a wide smile._

_“Yes,” his father nodded._

_“And a Christmas Tree, will it be there?”_

_“It will.”_

_“Hurrah! There will be a Christmas Tree, there will be a Christmas Tree!” Desmond even bounced up in joy, eyes gleaming in delight. Then, as he was still in his pajamas, he ran to his room to start preparing for the celebration immediately._

_Having followed his son with his eyes, William came into the kitchen, gave his little four-legged friend her breakfast and began helping his wife set the table. Christmas was one of those few days when he was in such fine spirits and could let himself forget about his work, the Templars and exhausting training with his son for a while – just take the mask of strictness off his face and spend these precious hours with his loving family. As there was always something special for him in this holiday which had been uniting people from all over the world for so many centures – something bright and warming one's heart, hidden in smiles of their happy children, sparkling lights and songs full of hopes for the better._

_Desmond spent this whole day with his parents and other children, playing in the glittering snow and helping grown-ups – life was finally returning to their little community, the air was filled with voices, songs and jokes, people were bustling around, helping each other with preparations. In the evening everybody gathered in a big building where grown-ups’ meetings were usually held in – but tonight there was a tall Christmas tree dressed in shining fairy lights with a great red star on its top. Children were dancing, laughing, running around it, playing with each other, while their parents, sitting at the tables or dancing as well, were looking at them with smiles on their faces. The atmosphere of happiness brought together their families, and they finally managed to forget about their problems for a while and relax, enjoying themselves together with their kids in that wonderful winter night.  
  
_

  
_And in the next morning…_

_As Desmond woke up, he sat on the bed and stretched lazily, rubbing his sleepy eyes. The next moment he beamed with delight and sprang to his feet, rushing headlong into the corridor – he couldn't wait to see his Christmas gift._

_He ran into the living room and saw William sitting on the sofa with a book in his hand. There was Faith as well peacefully dreaming on his knees._

_“Merry Christmas, son,” his father greeted him, putting the book aside. Hearing him, Faith rose her head, stretched and also looked at Desmond, as if suggesting him join them._

_“Merry Christmas, Dad!” Desmond exclaimed as he jumped on the sofa in a flash and sat by his side. Then he stroked the cat’s fur and added, hearing her grateful purr in reply, “You too, Faith, Merry Christmas!”_

_“There's something waiting for you,” feeling his impatience, William said with a mysterious smile on his lips. He put Faith on Desmond's knees, got to his feet and went to the other room._

_Soon he came back, carrying a gift box in his hands, sat on the sofa and handed it to his son._

_In an instant, Desmond untied the knot, but paused for a moment as he removed the lid, looking at his gift – and there was such great amazement in his eyes that it seemed like he could hear his heart beating in his ears. Then he finally pulled out three white fangs strung on a strong rope._

_“Wolf's,” William smiled, seeing sparks of joy gleaming in his son's eyes. “Do you like them?”_

_“Dad, they…” Desmond couldn't find the words to express his excitement as his fingers were tracing along the smooth fangs, feeling the power and strength of their former owner, “they are awesome!”_

_“I knew you would like them,” William said warmly and put his hand on his shoulder, happy to see that his gift had evoked so many emotions in his son. At that moment, he noticed that Faith, who was sniffing such an interesting thing, reached out her curious paw to the fangs, and added, “And it seems like you’re not the only one.”_

_“Anyone would love it!” Desmond agreed, laughing, and let her touch his gift. Then he looked at his father again and asked, “But they are actually real, right, Dad?”_

_“They are.”_

_“Just like those Native Americans have?”_

_“Of course!” William laughed, hearing sincere excitement in his voice. “It was actually made by one of my Native American friends.”_

_He made a pause, gathering his wits, and then went on in a more serious voice:_

_“I was told that in different cultures wolves have been considered a symbol of freedom and bravery, wisdom, power and loyalty for many centuries, and that such amulets can pass a part of those traits to their owners. What’s more, they can bring families together and make you feel more confident. Who knows, maybe there is some truth in all these things. Wear it with dignity.”_

_“Wow,” Desmond muttered in admiration, clutching such an important and precious gift in his hand. Then he looked at his father again, smiled and put his arms around his neck, saying in appreciation, “Thank you, Dad.”_

_Turning their heads, they saw a female figure standing in the doorway and looking at them with a smile on her face. The next moment they heard a knocking at the door, and Mrs. Miles, stopping her husband and son, turned around and headed into the hallway. Soon she came right after a black-haired boy of the same age as Desmond – he ran into the living room, exclaiming:_

_“Des, look what I got for Christmas!”_

_Chris Banks, Desmond’s best friend on the Farm, ran up to the Miles. Showing them a leather sheath, he took a bone handle with a picture of a bear carved on it, and pulled out a steel blade._

_“It's so beautiful…” Desmond muttered in admiration, springing from the sofa and taking the sheath in his hands._

_“Yeah. It's amazing,” smiling widely, Chris said, his emerald eyes sparkling proudly as he watched his friend stare in awe at the blade._

_“Be careful with it, boys,” William warned them, remembering this blade; he and his friend Gavin had been on their recent business trip when they were looking for a temple of the Precursors with the help of the other Native American members of the Brotherhood – as this place had been hidden deep in the forests where wild animals still held great dangers for people._

_“Don't worry, Mr. Miles, everything’s under control,” Chris assured him confidently. However, then he remembered that he had forgotten about holiday greetings, being overwhelmed with joy, so he blushed a little and said to them in embarrassment, “And, um, Merry Christmas to you both!”_

_“Merry Christmas to you, too,” the father and son said in reply. _

_“And that’s what you got, isn't it?” Chris said in surprise as he noticed an amulet with white fangs in his friend’s hand._

_“Yes,” in his turn, Desmond nodded proudly. “Wolf's.”_

_“Wow!” Chris exclaimed in excitement, taking the fangs in his hands. “Just like those Native Americans have!” Then, as he thought a little, he looked at his friend again and added, smiling happily, “So this means you're like a chief among us now!”_

_“Like a chief?” embarrassed with the unexpected honor, Desmond asked in surprise._

_“Yeah, like a chief of real Native Americans! You'll be… White Fang, yes, White Fang! Let's go tell the others!” full of emotions, Chris went on, waving his hands in the air._

_“Only if I'm allowed to…” Desmond turned to his father with a question in his eyes, pleading him to say yes._

_“Well, today is Christmas, so you may go and play together. But tomorrow we'll continue training,” hesitating a little, William gave his permission at last – he was in high spirits today and didn't want to spoil this great mood, neither their nor his own._

_“But only after Christmas breakfast,” Mrs. Miles’s voice added from the kitchen._

_“Great! Then I’ll meet you in half an hour.” Chris ran to the door in joyful anticipation of an exciting game, and Desmond, looking at his father in appreciation, followed him and Faith into the kitchen._

_And though the years of hard trainings and misunderstanding, resulted into cold rejection, had torn their family apart, Desmond often recalled his best Christmas with deep sadness, celebrating it in New York among empty smiles and indifferent spree.  
  
_

* * *

  
“Desmond.”

Desmond was sitting at the table and checking his e-mail when he heard his father's voice behind his back. Turning around, he saw William – he stood next to him, resting his hand on the table.

“Um, do you need something, Dad?” he asked in surprise. But then, he suddenly felt warm weight on his shoulder, and turned his head to see his father's palm holding…

“Wait, is it that same…” his lips broke into a joyful smile, and the next second Desmond grabbed his old amulet with wolf's fangs out of William's hand, staring at it in disbelief.

“That same,” smiling back, William said and sat on a vacant chair. “I've been looking for the right moment to give it back to you, but it seems like there won't be any better than now. Though, maybe you don't need it anymore–”

“Of course I need it!” Desmond exclaimed, looking at his once so cherished gift that kept so many precious memories inside.

“You left it then,” William only shrugged his shoulders. As he stretched out his hand to the amulet and took one fang in his palm, he went on, still smiling, though this smile was filled with light sadness, “I've kept it close to me since that day and, looking at it, recalled your smile, your laughter, how you was happy that Christmas. When we both felt that we were a real family.”

Pausing for a moment, William added in regret:

“It's a shame that such days were so few.”

“Yeah…” nodding, Desmond agreed. His joy faded away when he looked at his amulet again, deep in sad thought.

It kept not only the happiest memories inside.

_“I'm sick of it!”_

_Enraged, Desmond was nervously pacing the yard, having finished training with his father just a few minutes before. Chris stood aside, looking at him and thinking of what to say – seeing his friend in fury wasn't new for him at all._

_“Des, I certainly agree that William overreacted–” he finally dared start speaking, but a furious shout stopped him in the middle of a sentence:_

_“He's constantly overreacting!”_

_Desmond turned to him, fiercely waving his hands in the air. His split lip was still stinging his face and pride, no matter how he tried to ignore it – and no excuse of his father, who would come to him and try to make amends once again, would mollify him anymore._

_“He only wants us to be able to defend ourselves if the T–”_

_“He’s been telling us this for fifteen years, and what’s then? Have you seen anybody coming here? Have you seen any of these Templars?” Desmond continued to walk from side to side, hands clenched into tight fists. “ ‘You are an Assassin, you must do this, must do that, nothing is true, everything is permitted’! What does it mean? Who do we hide from? Who do we fight? A bottle of pills?” On that note, he couldn't stop himself from laughing in irony. “And you still believe in these fairytales?” _

_“It is not fairytales, Desmond,” Chris said seriously, not smiling in the slightest._

_“It's not? Then why are we wasting years sitting here in fear and can't take a step outside?” Desmond turned around, looking into the distance. “C'mon, Chris, open your eyes! The rest of the world, people, civilization are there, right behind these hills! Why can't you just understand this?”_

_“We’re not ready for it, Des. William will decide when–”_

_“He won't decide anything. He is insane. They are all insane. Hide from imaginary threat and want us to become like them,” Desmond’s tone lowered, and dark, dismal notes appeared in his voice. Then he added in sheer disappointment, “But it seems like you’ve already become.”_

_“Des, it's–” Chris took a step toward him, intending to put a friendly hand on his shoulder and try to cool his rage down, but Desmond only snorted in despise and headed to his home._

_I won't become one of those lunatics. They won't make me one of them, Desmond thought, kicking a little rock on his way, I can't stay here anymore…_

_He was heading towards the door, trying not to run into anyone. Nobody had understood it, paid any attention. Not yet. He himself did not entirely realize what he was doing. He knew only one thing: he needed to run away from here. It did not matter where to. In the distance, he heard Chris calling him, and picked up the pace immediately._

_And here, unnoticed, he was standing in front of the door – when he suddenly heard a new call behind him:_

_“Meow?”_

_“God, Faith!” flinching, he turned around and saw his little friend heading toward him. That stopped him for a few moments, and he reached down to pat her on the head for the last time._

_“Goodbye, Faith. I’m gonna miss you,” he said sadly, gently stroking her fur, and then stood up again. There was great surprise in her big golden eyes and worried meow, but he wasn't looking at her anymore, remembering that he should hurry to avoid being noticed._

_Then he slipped through the door and finally found himself standing outside – and stopped again, unable to do anything._

_Frightened, Desmond shook his head, as if waking up from a strange, confusing dream. He had just realized that there, right in front of him, were impenetrable darkness, moonless night and black forest where the beginning of chilling uncertainty was lying ahead, without his friends and family, whose voices and laughter he could still hear behind his back._

_His family…_

_His hand stretched up to touch a wolf fang. His father’s gift which had always been with him, wherever he went._

_A wolf would never reject his family..._

_“No.”_

_He took the amulet off his neck and threw it in the grass._

_“I don't need it anymore, father.”_

_Not this kind of family._

_Desmond, not wishing to hesitate any longer, moved towards the darkness and freedom, away from his former life, senseless Creed, hateful training and destiny which he didn't choose and didn't want to accept. And it already seemed like he didn't care for anything else anymore, when he suddenly heard–_

_“Desmond?”_

_Mom…_

_He rushed forward. He heard voices of the others, his father and friends, and his mother's call was still echoing in his ears, breaking, desperate, pleading with him to return and tearing his heart apart. But he didn't stop. No, he put all his energy into it and ran even faster than before. The training came in useful. Finally, the shouts died away in the distance, and he let himself stop to catch his breath and take a look around._

_But there was only silence and blackness – the horrible unknown surrounding him from every side._

_And doubt that he'd made the right choice was slowly slipping into his scared soul._

_He still could turn around and come back to his home. But he didn't. The thirst for so long-sought freedom beckoned him against all the odds and fears._

_If only anybody could tell him where he should go now…_

_“Okay, okay, Dad, I'm getting up…”_

_Unwillingly, Desmond pulled the blanket off himself, stretched and then, out of his old habit, put his hand under the pillow so as to find his precious amulet there. However, instead of the fangs, his hand groped only cold emptiness._

_Puzzled, Desmond sat on his bed and looked around. As he finally woke up, he realized that it was not his home in the Black Hills but his little apartment in the center of New York, he was alone, and nobody had woken him or touched. Although the sun was rising outside the window just like before – on the Farm, when he used to get up with the first song of a morning bird and the ring of the bell._

_It was just a dream..._

_He gave himself a little shake and put his legs on the floor, still sitting on the bed. Feeling chilling devastation inside, he buried his face in his hands, angry at himself for this weakness, and murmured, trying to get rid of the coming memories:_

_“They are gone, Desmond.”_

_But these words only made the emptiness in his heart more oppressing than ever before._

_Gone…_

“Desmond?”

William’s worried voice shook Desmond out of his memories. Flinching, he looked at his father and muttered in confusion:

“Don't worry, I just remembered something. It's alright.” He took a deep breath and then asked in a much calmer voice, “How’s Chris? Where is he? And the others?” As he remembered another member of his family, he paused for a second and went on with a warm smile on his face, “And how’s Faith, of course? She’s with Mom now, right? God, I can't imagine how they both must miss me!”

“Your friends are working in different parts of the world. Only Bruce is in Chicago now.” Getting gloomy, William made a heavy pause, as if thinking whether he should tell him everything or not – Desmond got tense instantly, sensing that the truth wouldn't be as bright as he'd imagined. After which his father went on in a low, quiet voice:

“Grace died helping me and the others leave the Farm, Chris – trying to save you from Abstergo.” His heart missed a beat, and Desmond felt something, which had just been blazing like a flame in his chest, suddenly freeze and die inside of him. “Sarah and Nile were killed two years ago in Italy during the attack on our headquarters, Alan was hunted down in England.”

"God..."

Motionless, he stared at his amulet, unable to believe what he'd just heard. He'd seen and relived so many deaths – and yet it was hard to realize this. To realize that some of his friends who he'd known since he was a child, with whom he used to play, to learn, to laugh, to joke, to share their sorrows and joys, with whom he'd lived in their small village for so many years – were gone. That he would never see somebody who he actually knew, that he would never have a chance to ask how were they doing, to see their smiles, to hear how they would have been happy to know that he was with them again. That they had died trying to help other people, trying to fight the Templars – God, that his best friend had died trying to snatch him from the clutches of Abstergo. That they had died trying to help him and his family.

And that he also could have lost someone in his family.

“And as for Faith...”

Desmond flinched when he heard his father's voice again – hoarse, it became so dismal and quiet that he immediately understood what the answer would be without any word.

“As I've said, just a few of us survived that attack on our home. And she... died. Too.”

Desmond was sitting still unable to say a word. Because he had really believed in it. He had actually hoped that it hadn't taken anybody from his family.

He looked at his father again – William was sitting in front of him in silence, head down, not saying a word. He suddenly remembered their conversation which had taken place right after their quarrel about the Animus, and William had said that he, Desmond, had been wasting his time while the others were fighting to make a difference. He remembered that William and other adult members of the Brotherhood had trained them, that they all had been learning under his watchful eyes. He recalled Shaun writing him that his father had never left him when he was in the coma, that he'd always been by his side. And he also remembered that little ball of black fur that once had spend those warm evenings with them curled up on their laps or playing with a toy on a string, and brought them so much joy when someone of them was sad.

He used to think that his father was a cold, calculating person who always cared about the Order's business more than any living creature in the world. But now, at this moment of silence, it seemed like he also thought about his young protégés who had given their lives for their cause – and perhaps about Clay Kaczmarek, too. About their little fluffy friend who used to come into his office when he was left alone, all alone against his own thoughts and feelings, and, having asked his permission with a quiet meow, jump up on his lap – but now she would never come back and nuzzle her head against his gentle hand. That he'd been afraid he would have never seen his son who'd been so far away from him, and he'd had no idea how he lived, where, or if he was still alive or not. Afraid that he could have been killed by those bastards who had once taken those young lives. And of course, there was no surprise that he, as well as his whole team, wished to save the world and people whose lives entirely depended on the four of them.

What had made William look the way that wasn't his true self? What dark secrets were hidden in his heart? What pain had he hidden deep inside himself, never showing it to anyone? What had he, Desmond, never thought about, what had he – and maybe anybody else – never noticed before? He sincerely wanted to become closer to his father, to overcome the differences between them. And if he found answers to those questions, maybe he would finally manage to break the wall standing between them?

Right now?

“You know, when I lived in New York, I did miss you all.” He knew he also had to make a step toward reconciliation and somehow talk with him about everything. To express himself. And listen to what William would say. “I really liked the city, its beauty, lights, parties with my new friends, some new opportunities opening up for me. But at the same time... I don't know, maybe it's because of the memories from my childhood, but I also missed that simple, sincere atmosphere from the Farm. Just like that Christmas. I wanted so much to meet my old friends and tell them that there were no Templars, that everything was alright. To show them what I'd seen, share my emotions with them, hear what they would have thought of all this things – and, like before, go for a run in the forest and finally take a breath of fresh morning air. To go with Chris to the bar, get drunk and hang out till morning.” At that moment, he sniffed, feeling wetness in his eyes. He wiped away the tear and then looked at his father again with a sad smile on his lips. “And I wished so hard _you_ could look at all these things the way I'd seen them, and forget all this nonsense about the Templars and Assassins. So there was no disagreements between us, so you was just there. With Mom. And Faith. So you could simply... understand me.”

“Maybe you won't believe me, but... that was my wish. Too.” Desmond looked at his father in surprise again, and William went on, pausing occasionally – as he was also trying to find the words to say and handle his own feelings. “I was... actually going to tell you that I wanted to take you with me to the city on your sixteenth Birthday – I thought that you was ready for that and you was able to stand up for yourself. Wanted to show you a little part of the world, which you, of course, so yearned to see. To show you that everything I'd told you was true. That all this training, the Creed, my stories about the Templars – all these things weren't for nothing. So you could also simply... understand me.”

William went silent for a few moments, and Desmond froze up, listening to him.

“All those years, while I was looking for you, I was so afraid that I would never find you. That the Templars would find you just like the others. And they would take you away from me. Forever.” His voice trembled, and William stopped for a moment before he could go on again, “And I've always been thinking of what I did wrong when I was raising you. Of what I should do next so as not to repeat the same mistakes. And also... when I was looking at your amulet, I tried to remember what we'd had then. I remember all our training – tears, blood, shouts, quarrels – and nothing but that very Christmas. I know that we had some other happy days, but it seems like everything is shrouded in fog inside my head, and I... just can't remember anything. At all.”

William sighed, lowering his head. After which he rose up from the chair – Desmond was sitting still, shocked and speechless.

“So... I think it's time for us to start a new session in the Animus. Come when you're ready, I'll be waiting for you.”

Desmond only nodded in reply, still thinking over what he'd just heard – and William left him, deep in his own thought and memories.

As he approached his table, he noticed a ghost silhouette heading towards him. And he turned his head just slightly when he heard a question:

“Everything alright?”

“Yes,” William answered. He sat on his chair and closed his eyes. Haytham's words made the fragments of pictures dimmer, and he shook his head, trying to get rid of them. “It's just some memories, nothing more.”

“You did the right thing to tell him what you think and feel. He will understand you. Just like you – him. You both just need some time.”

“Yes. Time,” William repeated quietly, shaking his head.

He finally turned to the ghost and saw an encouraging smile on his face. And for some reason, he suddenly felt better. Just a little bit – but better.  
  


* * *

  
_Docks of quiet New York were bathing in the golden rays of evening sunshine. Sailors were heading back to their homes, and a broad-shouldered young man in a hood was looking around, waiting for somebody. Soon he finally heard a familiar voice whose owner he wanted to see._

_“Evening, Connor.” Turning back, Connor saw his father heading to him with his hands clasped behind his back. “I see you made it here in one piece.”_

_“Recovered from your beating, then?”_

“It seems like Connor's wit was just as good as yours,” William hummed in the modern time; Haytham pursed his lips and scowled at him just like his projection in the Animus a few moments before – at Connor, but didn't say anything.

_“Benjamin Church is holed up in an abandoned brewery on the waterfront. We should be done with this by sunrise,” in the past, Haytham went on like nothing had happened. Soon they discussed everything and moved to their destination._

“I must say, you were getting along pretty well for an Assassin and a Templar,” William remarked, watching them run across the roofs.

“We were a father and son, after all,” Haytham shrugged his shoulders. Then he looked at his descendant and added, smiling slightly, “Besides, it seems like you and I are getting along quite well, too.”

“That's true, I guess,” William nodded, meeting his eyes, and smiled back. 

_“Tell me something…” Connor said, finally stopping his father on the roof of one building._

_“M-m?”_

_“You could have killed me when we first met,” he went on._ (“He could have killed you on the gallows,” William muttered in the modern time.)_ “What stayed your hand?”_

_“Curiosity. Any other questions?”_

“An exhaustive answer.”

_“What is the Templars' truly seek?”_

_“Order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that,” Haytham answered simply, after which a conversation about the Orders and politics began._

“Strong words,” William said as he had listened to them and then turned to his ancestor.

“You have a different point of view, don't you?” Haytham asked in surprise, looking back at him.

“Actually, you said the naked truth to him. Nothing has changed to the present day,” William turned to the monitor again. “Grandiloquent speeches, someone else's ambitions and money still solve everything in the world while honor and human dignity are mostly relegated to the background.”

“Well, it seems like we see eye to eye on certain matters indeed,” Haytham nodded and looked at the screen as well.

_“Hold a moment,” he stopped his son as they hid in the alley near the brewery. “Church, you clever bastard!”_

_“What is it?”_

_“I was hoping I could wave you past the guards, but he's replaced most of them with men I don't know,” Haytham explained, looking out of the corner. “Hm-m-m. Well, I should be able to pass without arousing suspicion. But you…” he turned back, unambiguously pointing his hand at Connor's robe, and wanted to move forward when Connor grabbed his hand._

_“No. We do this together or not at all.”_

_“Then what do you propose?”_

_“I will find a guard who is off duty and take his uniform.”_

_“Very well,” Haytham agreed. Then he sat on the ground and added, “I will wait here, then.”_

_“Of course you will,” Connor didn't hesitate to tease him back and went to search for a uniform._

“Keep it up, Connor,” smiling, William supported him once again, not even noticing irritated eyes on his back.

_“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to come along and hold your hand, perhaps? Provide kind words of encouragement?” Haytham threw him another barb, but Connor only waved his hand and left him alone_.

“Whose side are you on, by the way?” Haytham said rather angrily as he finally gave up keeping his discontent in silence.

“Isn't it obvious?” William chuckled with that same sassy grin and then turned to the screen again.

“Right, how could I forget this,” the ghost snorted back. As he got no reaction this time, he only muttered, shaking his head, “Ah, these Assassins…”

_Without any difficulty, Connor soon got rid of the guard and returned to Haytham in disguise. As Haytham fixed his outfit, he gave his permission to follow him to the brewery._

_“Hold strangers!” a guard stopped them. “You tread on a private property. What business have you here?”_

_“The Father of Understanding guides us,” Haytham answered calmly._

_“You I recognize.” The guard looked suspiciously at the younger one. “Not the savage.”_

_“He is my son.”_

“What?” suddenly, William exclaimed in surprise as he barely managed to hide a chuckle in his hand – when the Animus glitched, the picture suddenly appeared to be shown in the third person, and they saw Connor’s face, not so slightly surprised at that curious turn of events. “Connor…” 

“He did have this expression at that moment?” Haytham smiled – in the past he had been too busy to turn around and notice that funny grimace.

“Well, my eyes would have poped out if I heard you call me your grandson,” William couldn't help making another comment, still refusing to turn to his ancestor – because now Haytham particularly regretted not having his physical body, so that he could find a gag to make his dear descendant shut up for a while.

_At last, the father and son were allowed to go in and soon came to a closed door. And while Haytham was picking the lock, he decided to talk with his son about Ziio and what his life would have been if he'd stayed with her then. Sadly, this conversation didn't finish on a warm note._

“It must have been hard to hear this after so many years,” listening to them, William said in sympathy.

“Actually, I had already known that.”

“You had?” his descendant asked in surprise, turning to him. The ghost only shrugged and answered in quite an indifferent voice – or rather, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yes. Charles told me about her death the day I learned I had a son. I didn't find it necessary to tell him.”

William didn't find what to say and so only turned to the screen again, feeling uneasy.

_In the next room the father and son met Church and suddenly found themselves in a real ambush – for that Church appeared to be not the real Church but his impersonator. A fight broke out, and as soon as Connor and Haytham were done with the guards, they pressed the False Church against the wall and made him tell everything they wanted to know. After which…_

“Did you always deal with problems that way?” William muttered, sitting still – just a second before, a gun had gone off, and the False Church collapsed on the floor with a bullet in his head. But remembering the same incident in the forest, this time he hadn't got surprised at Haytham's act at all.

“He was of no use to us either,” the ghost’s said entirely emotionlessly – however, he seemed to become even more gloomy than before.

“Well, here I could began a moral discourse upon promises and a waste of resources to detain prisoners, not to mention how many people Connor had killed himself when he was indiscriminately slaughtering everyone on the battlefield. But...” William broke off, not knowing how to express his own thoughts – for he'd been more probably struck not by that act itself but that strange, horrible indifference shown on Haytham's projection's face at that moment. But he didn't manage to finish the sentence as another event suddenly attracted their attention.

_They heard new voices. Looking up, the father and son saw three guards running onto the platform with rifles aimed right at them – Connor was the first to pull himself together, so he grabbed Haytham by the shoulders and dragged him to the cover. Then the guards decided to set off the powder kegs in order to smoke them out – and in a matter of seconds the fire engulfed the brewery._

“Well...” William muttered nervously: in the past, Haytham had run through the flames by himself, leaving his son alone in the thick of things once again. “After that, I would never agree to work with you again.”

“He handled it without any help,” Haytham only shrugged his shoulders.

“Good, if you really didn't leave him to die on the gallows…” William muttered, now doubting even more that that set of circumstances had actually taken place. But he also remembered that Haytham had never left him, William, alone in cases when he actually needed his help, so he calmed down and returned to the screen.

_Then they heard sneers of a man that seemed to be backed in a tight corner, and soon found the truth: two guards had actually obstructed Haytham his way. At the very right moment, the roof collapsed on them, but Haytham managed to cling to the edge of the broken floor, and Connor, against all odds, reached down and helped his father climb onto the platform._

“And why he's constantly saving you?” William remarked, turning to his ancestor again.

“I was just a little bit unlucky those times,” Haytham muttered, eager to remind his brazen descendant that he'd had almost the same problems recently, but didn't say anything.

_After which Connor grabbed his father and rushed through the locked doors into the unknown – fortunately, only to fall safely into the water below._

“An original way out, Connor, quite an original,” William mumbled, looking at Haytham's annoyed grimace and choking from trying not to burst into laughter. “Great job.” 

“Pf, great job. But what if I'd had a heart attack?” having no patience to bear such a sheer disrespect toward himself anymore, Haytham snorted, folding his arms across his chest.

“You could have. But otherwise you'd have been burned alive there,” William only shrugged his shoulders. “How many times had he saved you thus far, by the way?”

“Well, he did help me much then,” becoming calm again, Haytham agreed with him at last. What was more, there seemed to be a strange innuendo in his words.

“He did,” William repeated, also getting serious. Then he looked at Haytham and added, “But your relationship with Connor, it's really… amazing to observe it.”

“Just like your relationship with Desmond – to me,” the ghost replied, looking back at him – and William could swear he had noticed a light smile on his lips again. “But you haven't seen what happened next.”

That was true indeed.

“So… well, I won't be asking what made him agree to take you aboard after all that happened, but… why he still hadn’t thrown you into the sea?” William muttered, watching _the Aquila sail the azure waters of Caribbean sea. And everything would have been wonderful if that marvelous picture of majestic shores wasn't spoiled by the endless complaints of Haytham's, whose obsessive desire to catch elusive Church didn't let him notice the beauty of nature around him._

“Why?” frowning, Haytham looked at him in surprise. At that moment in the past, he hadn't even thought of that course of events.

“Were I him, I would have done that instead of listening to your grumbles,” William said with all his honesty, never once turning to his ancestor.

“What would you…?” this time, Haytham couldn't even find the words to express his indignation. That was the last thing he'd expected to hear from his descendant whose impudence had just crossed the line.

“You see, the Aquila is floating through the reefs like a swallow in the sky. I don't mention the things he did in a storm. A perfect captain,” William didn't exaggerate in the slightest, finally turning back to Haytham. “I really envy his patience.”

“We’d been chasing Church for quite some time,” Haytham remarked coldly. “I didn't want to lose him once again.”

“Then you could take the helm yourself, I would look at you controlling the ship,” William replied, humming. Then, however, he suddenly realized what nonsense he'd just said, and so retreated, correcting himself, “Though… I guess everything was fine without that.”

“Actually…” remembering what had happened later, Haytham started to speak. However, when he noticed that William’s brows began slowly rising up to the ceiling, he quickly changed his mind and said evasively, “On second thoughts, it really doesn't matter, just forget this.”

_A few minutes later, the Aquila left the maze of cliffs behind, and they finally noticed Church’s ship in the distance. A heavy battle broke out, and yet again Connor managed to trash all enemy’s vessels into heaps of wrecks and prepared to board Church’s – but it turned out that this time Haytham had completely different plans, too._

“Really?” staring pop-eyed at the monitor, William muttered in his greatest shock – because Haytham had suddenly decided to take the lead, pushed Connor out of his way and actually got his hands on the helm. “God, just don't tell me–”

_The next moment, the Aquila, rushing in full sail to the point of no return, crashed into the Welcome and ripped off her own left side_ – and William, unable to keep his emotions in check any longer, just slammed his fist on the table, saying, “I knew you would smash her the second you took the helm, I knew that!”

“It caused a lot of damage to Aquila, I don't deny this,” Haytham agreed slightly awkwardly, now looking at everything from a different angle. “But I couldn't let him escape again.”

“Hm, I don't think that after such bombing his ship would have sailed anywhere,” William remarked – his ancestor pursed his lips yet again but left his words without any comment.

_When Connor had boarded the ship and got rid of the captains, he went down into the cargo hold where he heard his father’s furious voice coming from the distance. Soon he found Haytham beating Church up, and stopped him, so that he could ask Church about the location of the Patriots’ supplies. When they were finally done with him, Haytham approached Connor and softly put his hand on his son's shoulder._

“After all, you both did have a rather… peaceful relationship,” William muttered. He hadn't really expected to hear any warm words of praise from Haytham to his son. “Sometimes I even start to forget that you were actually on opposite sides.”

“Well, that was true indeed,” Haytham muttered in reply – but for some reason, these words seemed to sound as darkly and gloomily as never before.

“It couldn't end well, could it?”

“You know it yourself.”

At that moment, William suddenly felt terribly uneasy – as if something had stung him in the heart, growing into dismal, oppressing feeling. After which he got to his feet, turned off the computer and headed to his son.  
  


* * *

  
Deep in thought and silent, they were sitting at their tables for some time. But soon Shaun pulled them out of their reflections with such words:

“I don't want to bother anybody, but I have some bad news. Our supplies have run out.”

“Why?” Desmond asked in surprise, standing up and heading to him. “We’ve been in the city recently.”

“I think I know the reason,” William looked at Desmond in quite an unambiguous way – the letter only snorted in protest, folding his arms across his chest. “Do we need anything else apart from food?”

“Here,” Rebecca gave him a list of things.

“Then I’ll go myself,” William offered at that very moment: he'd hardly ever left the temple since the day he woke up from the coma, so every part of his soul was eager to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Actually, I need to buy some things, too,” Desmond added, craving a breath of fresh air as much as his father.

“Let me guess, it will be chips and chocolates, huh?” William couldn't stop himself from making a comment, though this time – with a light smile on his lips.

“Um, not this exactly…” Desmond muttered a little bit awkwardly as his father’s guess was one of the reasons indeed.

“Well, let's go together, then,” William gladly agreed to his proposal, seeing it as a great opportunity to spend a little more time with his son. “Tell me when you're ready.”

While they were preparing for a drive, Haytham decided to visit William again.

“So you are going to the city, right?” he asked as they headed to the temple entrance.

“Yes,” William confirmed. They stopped in front of the slope leading up to the temple door; Desmond had already opened it with the Apple.

“Actually, I have some news, too. The last time I approached the entrance I didn't feel like I was getting weaker,” Haytham shared his thoughts, looking up in the darkness.

“You think you can finally get out of the temple, don't you?” William asked in surprise.

“Maybe something has changed in me since that incident indeed. I remember the day when Ziio and I came to the temple, and the feeling of great energy hidden in its walls. Who knows what was kept in that room,” Haytham explained, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, I guess it won't hurt to try.”

As William climbed up the slope, Haytham flew to him and went right through the half-open door – William had to duck down under it – and then walked abreast of his descendant. The view of the sunshine breaking through the blackness of the cave encouraged both of them, and they picked their paces towards the light.

“Finally…”

William slowly came out of the lifeless murk, covering his eyes, which had got too used to the darkness, with his hand from the unbearably bright light. Taking a deep breath of fresh air and regaining his strength with every passing second, he looked around the golden meadow lying under the clear sky, whose gentle azure had already begun mixing with the first tints of a fiery sunset.

“I can't believe my eyes…”

And as he looked back at the quiet voice, almost blended with the breeze, he saw an unbelievable and yet wonderful picture.

Haytham's crystal silhouette was shimmering in the rays of the golden sun, his eyes glittering in genuine delight as he was whirling around with a little bird flitting by his side – nature was welcoming him back into the world of the living, and he was looking around, longing to see and learn its unforgettable beauty once again.

“So many years have passed, and it's still as wonderful as before,” he whispered, watching his little friend fly away.

“It seems like even death can't kill one's love of life,” William murmured, looking at him with light and yet sad smile.

However, at that moment Haytham's face changed – confusion and strange worry appeared in his eyes, and he turned to his descendant.

“But at the same time... I have a feeling as if everything became absolutely different. Why there's still yellow foliage on the trees, and some branches are actually green? And where's snow on the ground? And the air is still warm, one won't believe that winter is coming in two days. And it's still quite bright for this time of day.” He was looking around, trying to understand what his senses were telling him. “It has something to do with the end of the world, hasn't it?”

“Yes, the climate has changed greatly since the eighteenth century. Winters are becoming warmer, summers – hotter, days – longer, nights – shorter. The surface of the Sun itself is now simply boiling, producing explosions of energy into the space which are getting more powerful and so scorching the Earth. This year, it has caused lots of catastrophes around the world: one by one, volcanoes are beginning to erupt, even the ones which had been considered extinct, earthquakes, tsunami – enormous waves from the ocean able to struck entire cities – becoming more frequent, glaciers and ice caps melting, floods growing in number, and many other natural disasters. I think that nature on the Earth herself doesn't understand what's going on around,” William explained, frowning. “People are worried, but governments and news media under the watchful eye of Abstergo are trying to convince masses that everything's alright and scientists are looking for ways to deal with cataclysms. Ha, as if they're doing anything,” on that note, he only snorted in disgust. “As I understand it, we need to activate some sort of shield with the help of technologies left by the First Civilization for a period of time when the energy of the Sun will be spiking – after which the cycle will over, the Sun energy wane, and everything on the Earth will start getting back to normal. We just need to survive this hell somehow.”

“I couldn't imagine that everything would change so dramatically in a couple of centuries,” Haytham muttered in shock, thinking over what he'd just heard.

“Unfortunately, it's true. Though you've probably noticed that the temperature in the temple is rising by the day. It's like a reminder that we should hurry up,” William explained, sighing; by the way, now he was dressed in lighter jeans, shirt and jacket, though his heroic yet awful sweater had gone forever – for it had sacrificed itself so as to save its owner's life from the wolf's claws. “Nonetheless, despite all our problems, there is a lot of good in our century, too. You'll see plenty of nice things in the town.” William waved his hand, inviting him to follow into the forest and get around the cave.

“I can't wait to see everything,” Haytham said, going after him.

They walked a thin path in the trees and soon came to a strange, big white thing on four wheels that vaguely reminded Haytham of carriages of his time – it was securely hidden in the woods, so that nobody would have thought that there were other people somewhere nearby.

“It’s a kind of transport of your time, isn't it?”

“It is,” William confirmed, turning off the alarm and opening the cabin door. “And it’s called a van.”

“And you actually don't need horses to pull it forward,” Haytham muttered as he followed him in and began looking around.

“We don't,” William said, putting the key in the ignition. “I would tell you how it works, but it'll take a lot of time, and some words will probably be too unusual to you. Maybe another day.” 

“Well, that's all right,” Haytham didn't hide frustration in his voice, drawing back at the sudden buzz of the turning engine. “It’s so specious…”

“Usually cars are smaller than this one. We need a van in order to carry bigger group of people and things,” William explained. Then he put his hand on the wheel, which roughly reminded Haytham of a helm, and another one – on the lever, adding, “But now – hold on!”

The van moved on and soon stopped in front of the cave where Desmond had already been waiting for them.  
  


* * *

  
“It's incredible…”

Somehow holding on to the front seats, Haytham couldn't stop admiring the achievements of the twenty first century and the way William operated the “helm” and the lever, occasionally hitting the pedal with his foot in order to maneuver on the road. Eventually, he even dared to reach out his hand and touch the control panel, forgetting that he didn't have his physical body anymore, which made William chuckle as he was occasionally glancing sideways at him.

“What's up?” frowning, Desmond asked in surprise as he noticed a strange smile on his father's face – William quickly hid it under his usual calmness and answered only “Nothing”. And though he didn't look at Haytham again, the ghost took his hand off the panel instantly and hid behind the seats, slightly embarrassed with his own curiosity.

Then, an awkward hush fell over the van – but William soon broke it with a wonderful suggestion:

“Hm, should we turn the music on?”

“If you want,” Desmond shrugged, staring out the window.

“What music do you like?”

“M, different kinds. Though, actually, I doubt that you're closely familiar with modern genres and singers – but I, for example, also love classic rock. Queen, Scorpions, Aerosmith, The Beatles. And many others.”

“Yeah…” William agreed, smiling happily at the mention of his own favorite bands. “They're all unforgettable.”

“They are,” Desmond met his eyes and smiled back – it was so wonderful that they finally found points of agreement in something so common and natural for any person in the world.

William pressed the button on the panel, turning on the radio, and they heard the first sounds of a club song.

“I often heard this one at the Bad Weather,” Desmond said, unconsciously beginning to tap his fingers on his knees in time to the playing melody. (“And this is called music?” Haytham’s grumble came from behind the seat.)

“Do you like it?” turning to his son, William asked in surprise. He tried to listen to the song lyrics but instantly understood that he should have never done that – as there was no sense in it at all, the singer's voice left much to be desired, and these excessively strong beats seemed too aggressive to his ear as well.

“Not really. You may switch if you want,” Desmond waved his hand indifferently, and William switched the frequency without any hesitation.

Soon they stopped at another song. As Desmond explained, it was last summer's hit and turned out to be quite beautiful: the melody was more life-confirming and had nice lyrics, which were accompanied by a pleasant woman's voice. Wishing to get a little bit closer to the tastes of the younger generation, William decided to leave this wave – but then there came familiar grumbling once again:

“How can you listen to this? It's not music, it's noise!”

Unfortunately, annoying remarks instantly killed all the pleasure from listening to this composition, which finished as quickly as it'd started and then was replaced by new nondescript junk.

However, soon after some desperate attempts to find something pleasant, William finally heard a familiar composition which made his heart sing odes to Haven – because it turned out to be not only familiar but one of his favorite Michael Jackson’s song! The atmosphere in the van livened up at once as it appeared that Desmond knew it as well – so when they looked at each other once again, they both broke into happy smiles. 

But of course, there was bound to be a person who would want to continue spoiling that glorious moment:

“Lord, don't you care about your ears? It's simply ridiculous!”

At that very moment, William suddenly realized that their dear great-great-great-granddad would be complaining about any modern music due to its absolutely unusual sounds – and Michael Jackson's name, unfortunately, had hardly told him anything at all. And though he greatly respected Haytham's tastes, the ghost had to know they couldn't listen to classical music all the time – after all, one should have conscience once in a while, for god's sake!

“What's wrong?” Desmond asked in worry, noticing that his father reached out his hand to the panel.

“Nothing, I just have a... slight _headache_,” William put special emphasis on the last word, hoping that his hint would be understood – after which added immediately, seeing that Desmond's face had become more anxious, “It's a simple headache, really, nothing more. I just got a little tired during the day, I guess. It's better turn the music down a bit.”

William could swear he felt a glare of two disgruntled eyes burning him through the back of the car seat – but this time he didn't hear any comment at all. Haytham should have known that they wouldn't do anything just because he'd said so, it was time for him to learn to make compromises as well.

Listening to the pleasant music and striking conversations about things which weren't related to the Order, the father and son together with the quiet ghost – eventually William simply stopped paying any attention to him, so Haytham, deciding not to bother anybody, just flew out of the van and followed it from above – finally reached the nearest town and parked it in front of a hypermarket.

“Indeed, a lot of things have changed in this century,” Haytham shared his impressions, descending to the ground the moment his grudge had faded away, and William came out of the car. “Everything looks so neat and groomed, all these lanes, roads, big houses, cars of various forms and colors are so nice to look at. I can't believe that such wonderful things are available not only for the rich but for ordinary people as well. Humanity has actually made a great progress in its development.”

“You haven't seen New York yet,” William said, closing the door. “So many things have changed there, you definitely won't recognize the city – it's like a completely different place in comparison to what it looked like in your century.”

“I believe you,” the ghost nodded and followed him to the market.

When they walked through the doors, which had opened in front of them on their own will, Haytham stopped dead in his tracks, looking around in amazement: he found himself in an enormous hall where he saw lots of long racks full of such a large range of goods in colorful wrappers, boxes and bottles that he didn't know what to approach first – no shop of his time could provide such variety of products.

After which William had to face a new challenge that he, for some reason, hadn't foreseen at all: forgetting about his self-restraint due to his growing curiosity, Haytham started to ask questions about everything he found interesting and unusual. And since the whole market appeared to be interesting and unusual, William, noticing that other people, apart from his son, also began eyeing him sideways, finally gave up handling it and stopped in front of a rack with coffee, saying quietly while there was nobody around:

“Maybe you’d better ask all your questions when we return to the temple?” having found a proper pack of that wonderful drink, William put it in the basket and turned to his ancestor – however, probably hoping that Haytham would eventually forget about them all.

“Alright,” sighing, Haytham agreed. Though he was eager to learn everything about everything, he also understood that it would really be better to discuss everything in private. “There's just so many curious things around, I couldn't even dream of anything like this in my life.”

“I understand that. But I don't like the way other people glare at me either,” William replied, going to a new rack. However, contrary to his own words, he continued talking, “Incidentally, Rebecca once said it would be great to have a psychologist in our team.” Noticing bewilderment in his ancestor's eyes, he explained, “It's a sort of doctor who listens to their patient's serious emotional problems and tries to help handle them, provides emotional assistance, so to speak.”

“Hm, like...” Reflecting on the information, Haytham suddenly remembered a person who'd helped the Miles to get over their quarrel, and added, “Like Shaun?”

“Shaun…” William stood still for a few second, probably trying to imagine this situation in his head. Though, the next moment he shuddered at that picture and shook his head, muttering, “No, not Shaun. God, they can't really think of a psychiatrist, right?” Then, he frowned and stared at his ancestor in a rather angry way, “It's all your fault, by the way!”

“I still think we shouldn't distract them with ghosts from their work,” Haytham answered evasively – he still didn't want to speak with the others and repeat the same happy experience of persuasion as it'd been with his elder descendant. What was more, it would definitely be too much for him to feel three more pairs of eyes on his back, following him in shock wherever he went.

“So you think it's fine to distract me with them, huh?” William hummed. In reply, he got only a disgruntled grimace and so returned to the shopping.

When everything they needed much and not that much (“We won't survive without chocolates, will we?”) was put into the baskets, the father and son headed to a checkout, joined a queue and, talking about various ordinary things, soon left the market together with the ghost.

They still had half an hour till nightfall, the sky was burning with golden colors, the light wind was pleasantly tickling their skin – there was no sign of trouble at all. But for some reason, at that glorious moment William suddenly heard a girl's voice – and his heart froze in his chest.

“Mike!”

Turning around, he saw two children coming out of the market and turning to the right, cheerfully talking about something; the girl looked younger than her companion, and the similar features of their faces gave to understand that they were probably a sister and a brother.

Just looking at them triggered the horrible pictures from his old nightmare, and everything before his eyes became dark-blue again–

_“Dad?”_

In a moment, everything was jumbled up in his mind, somebody grabbed his hand, he heard a whoosh somewhere close to him – and the next second he found himself sitting on the ground, his heart pounding in his chest, his whole body trembling, the voice above his head asking something while those lifelike pictures were still flashing and flashing through his mind, destroying the boundary between the vision and reality once again.

_“God, Dad, that asshole could have killed you!”_

He finally managed to understand what he son had been telling him. After which, holding his hand, Desmond helped him get to his feet.

“How are you? Can you walk to the van?”

“Yes,” William murmured gloomily, still trying to catch his breath. Hell, he remembered what it felt like so well – to stand on a shaky ground between a rock and a hard place: wrong step forward – you break your neck under the car wheels, wrong step back – you're bleeding on the asphalt with a cracked head. If only this feeling was the only reason why his heart was still beating desperately in his chest, trying not to lose touch with reality once again. “I'll go myself, you'll take the packages. We need to hurry before we draw anybody's attention.”

“Okay,” Desmond agreed, putting scattered goods back into the package. When he was standing next to his father again, he added, “But this time I'll be in the driver's seat.”

“Oh, so you know how to drive?” William couldn't help making a new comment once again; Desmond only snorted in discontent.

“Yeah, just imagine this, I passed on the driver's license just before Abstergo captured me, and Rebecca and Shaun got me a new one,” Desmond let out a heavy sigh, going forward. “At least I haven't had any signs of passing out for quite a long time. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Well, it seems to be the best decision indeed,” in his turn, William didn't deny the truth either.

Frankly, now he only wanted to return to the others and stop thinking of what had happened here. Or at least try to stop thinking.  
  


* * *

  
“Are you alright?” Haytham asked his descendant in the temple – William collapsed onto his chair and buried his face in his hands, tortured by some great worry. “What happened there, on the road?”

“Eagle Vision activated, and I almost blacked out. And it activated because I… saw children there. From that vision. Of the end of the world.” William finally took his hands off his face and stared at a fixed point on the table. He felt worse and worse with every passing second as the memories kept coming back. “A brother and sister. They were running to their parents, but suddenly the ground opened up, and the girl fell into the abyss… The boy’s name was Mike, older than her, both red-haired, and the girl was dressed in that same blue t-shirt with butterfly image…” Reliving that nightmare in its every horrific detail, William trembled, breathing heavily, beads of sweat flowing down his face. “It was them, I'm sure of it.”

“Maybe you had seen those children earlier? It might explain why their images were in that vision,” Haytham said, getting worried as well.

“No. I had never seen them before,” William said firmly, shaking his head. He looked in the direction of the azure wall behind which the salvation of the whole world was hidden. “Would it actually end this way...?”

But the black arches of the ruined temple remained silent. 


End file.
